


Saluto Romano

by princewardo



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Roman, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Barebacking, Community: tsn_kinkmeme, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princewardo/pseuds/princewardo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman/Slave AU: Eduardo was a minor prince once - and he is still a prince, albeit one whose own father sold him to a Boy King to save his own skin.</p><p>For the tsn kinkmeme prompt: "Mark is a young, arrogant, brilliant, whatever Roman general and he takes over Wardo's father's lands? So Wardo becomes his slave. OR SOMETHING. Sex and things happen."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> COMPLETELY ANACHRONISTIC. ABSOLUTELY HISTORICALLY INCORRECT. Additionally, in this world, geography is very, very different, despite some similar place names. In fact...Rome is the only familiar place name you will encounter, and it certainly isn't in the same place as you will remember it existing. It's further north here. ;)

Emperor Marcus was not a patient man, and this was reflected in his rule.  Orders were obeyed without question, delays were not tolerated, and the lands beneath his closed fist ran like clockwork. None would say he was a kind leader, but he was widely respected as fair and shrewd in his lawmaking.

What other land could boast of a king who rose before the first cockcrow, and worked insistently until the ends of the night candles lay puddled in their waxy dishes? The was no such other land, was the answer, and the result was that in due course, King Marcus, once known as tyrant and despot, became the venerated ruler of lands that stretched from the great Frozen Ocean to the balmy beaches of the South.  Missionaries especially selected skipped across the waters to the East and West, spreading tidings of his intelligence and the way newly conquered lands flourished under his rule.

And flourish the peoples of his lands did, even as their former rulers fell into the poorhouse. The House of Saverin were just one of the many noble houses to lay down arms in surrender to the Boy King’s impossibly advanced troops.

 

\---

 

Eduardo’s father hurled his heavy crown down upon them from their keep, swearing at the foul invaders with threats in gutter language that Eduardo had never imagined his father could deign to utter.  His face was pale with a fury that frightened his youngest son.

 “Look away, my little one.” Queen Luiza whispered to him, her hands clutched around his forearms, but she could not look away from her husband either.

Eduardo was all of eighteen summers now, and had he not been a noble, he would be considered a man in his own right, as he frequently reminded his royal mother, but for now he was without argument.

 King Carlos was finally, terribly silent.

 He swung away from the stone wall and jerked his chin at Eduardo and his mother. He was still pale, but the fire in his eyes had dropped to a low burn that reminded Eduardo of the days when the castle was full of strangers with goods and gold from far off lands. King Carlos would barter strongly, eyes blazing with reflection of the riches, and upon reaching his end game, grit his teeth wide and prideful, like the artfully bloodied mouths of the sharks that Head Cook Maria would serve at the feast.  

 Eduardo knew then, at the sight of the smouldering fire, that his father was preparing to barter his final offer.

“It will be alright, Mae,” he whispered. “Father will offer them gold or-“

 “My son,” she sobbed, pulling him uncomfortably closer in her hysterics.

 The door was rammed open forthwith, and King Carlos stood before the invaders, open handed. He addressed them in their own tongue, and Eduardo could not understand more than one word of twenty.  The men did not rush them as Eduardo had feared they might.  He had not heard much of the foreigners beyond the stories that his father’s comrades shared at the feast table, tales of brutality and cruel eviction.

 Whatever it was that King Carlos said to the troops, it seemed to have bought them their lives.  Two stocky women in costly breastplates and leather leggings approached them when directed by their lieutenant, guiding first Queen Luiza, and then Eduardo himself into the thick of the group.  King Carlos followed behind, flanked by a number of soldiers, and their combined number marched down the spiralling staircase of the upper keep and out of Eduardo’s home for the last time.

 They were settled in a farmhouse not far away with at least a dozen more nobles, most of them cousins or aunts. Eduardo did not ask what had become of the uncles that were missing, but chose to embrace his reunion with his family’s former Master Diplomat, Sylvester – a long time confidante and teacher.

 Sylvester – a man of no nation - had been a diplomat and envoy for his father for many years, longer even than Eduardo had been living.  He could remember Sy teaching him to climb astride his rocking horse and later, to clamber onto his first pony. Despite long absences as envoy to many kingdoms, and occasionally to accompany Eduardo’s brother’s military campaigns, Sy was always a kind face in the crowd at their court. He was the firm hand on Eduardo’s shoulder in a world that frowned upon a comforting touch.

 Eduardo was relieved to see that his friend Sy was safe and well.

 

\---

 

Like Carlos Saverin, Sy was proficient in a flurry of languages, including that of their invaders.  Now they were all sequestered within the farmhouse, Sy and Carlos held quiet meetings beside the fire, voices low in a number of languages Eduardo could not pick out.  They would often glance to him, and though it was at first strange to receive a level of attention never before paid him by his father, it was warming.  They were clearly planning how to better their situation, and if Eduardo could help in any aspect he would be more than willing.  

As it was, the farmhouse was terribly dull.  The cousins that remained were all mere striplings and when Eduardo found himself the seeker in hide and seek once too often, he chose instead to withdraw to his small quarters, where he took stock of the personal effects that Sy had helped him bribe some soldiers to gather for him.

There were enough of his fine clothes for a fortnight, and his old abacus, and almost all of the ivory stones from his favourite chess set.  

 At first, Eduardo played against himself, as his cousins prefered to play games of Invaders! and beg the soldiers that guarded their gates for foreign sweetmeats and nuts. He asked Sy to play one afternoon, when he found him resting alone in the courtyard, but the man laughed.

 “It wouldn’t be any fun, little Edu. You haven’t improved your game since you were thirteen summers.” He smiled, and touched Eduardo’s arm gently.  “You should go and change for dinner. Your mae is well enough to join us tonight.”

Eduardo nodded and returned to his chambers to slip into a cleaner robe. Sy was right; he had already met his tactical peak. It was the reason he’d not been trained in war like his older brothers. Eduardo had just never shown the same promise.

Dinner was simpler than any meal Eduardo had ever seen laid out before his father: there was bread, cheese, and a fish stew, the best way the servants could think to make a couple of paltry fish spread to feed a score of people.  Eduardo waited until his parents and Sy were stirring their stews unhappily before he touched his own, as was expected.

It was a good meal, he thought, well seasoned. He had been into the kitchens earlier too, and seen the maids wringing their hands over the bare pantry. It seemed unlikely that they would be served anything as filling for a long time.

As Eduardo predicted, meals swiftly disintegrated into hastily choked down bread and thin fish gruel.  Eduardo’s mother took to her bed once more, and Eduardo had to trade some of the prettier pieces of his chess set to the scullery maid in exchange for her deftness with a needle. He had become too small for his robes, and they looked untidy billowing about his thin waist and arms.

Eduardo spent some of the hotter days in the shady courtyard, scraping away clumsily at lumps of firewood. He had finished two replacement pawns and started what he hoped might be something resembling a knight. The delicate snout was difficult to get right. 

The days only became hotter as they reached high summer, and their guards started trading the children fresh rabbits and field rodents in exchange for a constant supply of water, even into the late evening.

 “They are not used to our seasons.” Mae sighed. She turned her face so that Eduardo could wipe it with a cool cloth.  

He came to her almost every day to detail the games the children played, and the scuffles the servants got into when they thought no one might see.  Eduardo knew life was very lonely for Mae without her handmaids. Sy had also departed some time ago, weighted down with all the gold, and textiles, and skins he could extract from their thrice looted storehouses.

 “Maybe they will all get sunsick, and leave.” Eduardo suggested darkly.

Mae shook her head. “No, they will adapt. People will always adapt.”

Eduardo frowned, but kept his silence.

 “Let me sleep now, Edu.”

 “Of course, Mae. I am sorry to have worried you.”

 She shook her head once and shooed him away, reaching up with the same hand to enclave herself inside the dark canopy of her bed.

 

\---

 

Sy returned just after the peak of the solstice.  The king ordered a celebratory spread.  The stew was rabbit, with croutons, which was a great treat, especially for the children.  They splattered themselves fishing for the roasted bread morsels, and it was a fine time.

Eduardo’s Pai left the table first, an unusual occasion, and even more unexpectedly grasped Eduardo’s upper arm before he left the dinner room. 

“You will come to speak with us in the drawing room when you are fed.  I have a use for you.”

Eduardo put down his spoon, and looked across the table to his Mae, who had come down for the celebrations. Her eyes were fixed only on her croutons, which she had laid aside on a saucer, waste for the pigs now.

 He excused himself and followed his father.

 

\---

 

“You will play an important role now, Eduardo.” Carlos said. He snapped his fingers at Sy, silently pointing out Eduardo’s rebelliously upright hair and a pinpoint stain on the cuff of his pure white tunic. “I only pray that you do not disappoint your mother and myself.”

“No, sir.” Eduardo replied, standing up straighter. 

“It will be upon our heads if you do,” Carlos warned him. “Your Mae is a good woman, and these foreign devils would do her harm.”

 Eduardo swallowed with difficulty. It felt as if his throat had a quail’s egg lodged partway to his stone-filled belly. For Mae, he told himself. It will be simple. Present the king with the bounty of their land. Gift King Marcus with their belongings and their serfs and their treasures and their crops and-

 Eduardo’s eyes prickled at the rush of resentment and lost pride. He would never have been king of their lands – but now, neither would the rightful heirs; his older brothers. The Saverin name would die with the withering of their last crops, crushed beneath the heel of the Boy King.

 It was with this bitterness that Eduardo Saverin allowed Master Sylvester to pack his belongings -

 (“Surely, I will not need them all, Sy!”

 “Just in case, my boy.  It will be a lengthy journey. You do not want to be pining for something when you could so easily have brought it along.”)

-and it was doubly hard to take leave of his mother and cousins, having never parted from the family before. But he resisted tears and let a young foot soldier help him onto a grizzled military horse.  They let him wave to his family almost long enough to raise a hope that he was travelling freely and voluntarily.  Despite this kindness, the company falling in around him and the realisation that the halter on his bridle was knotted to that of the sergeant beside him reminded him very quickly that he was not off to visit family, but rather more likely to be trotting ever closer to imprisonment.

 The heat was oppressive once they left the tree-lined valley Eduardo had lived in all his life. The company took to marching only in the cooler end of the evening, and then proceeding all night until midmorning, when the sun burnt the humid mists off the grass of the plain. The soldiers would then set up camp under the brush and sparse trees, and sleep until evening, taking turns to guard the perimeters, and check on Eduardo.

 The sergeant Eduardo’s horse was lashed to every evening continued his job as a minder.  When they broke their procession, he would unsaddle Eduardo’s horse for him and make up a bed under the nearest shade.  Eduardo wasn’t sure at first whether the soldier was in his family’s pay, but whilst a number of the other soldiers ignored his presence, several of them were keen to bring him his share of the warmed rations at meal times and often pressed freshly picked fruit into his hands as they rode through once-Saverin orchards. They were kind to him. They did not seem worried that he could escape their care. Somehow that made Eduardo even more nervous.

 A few of the female soldiers could speak Portuguese proficiently. One confessed she was once a Saverin soldier, now ten years turncoat. They seemed willing enough to chat in his language as long as he helped brush their horses down or made himself otherwise useful as they conversed.

 “Why did you leave us?” Eduardo asked her baldly, working on a mud patch in her mount’s flank.

 Gretchen snorted. “I was in your brother’s troops. Prince Adão. It was bad timing on my part.”

 Eduardo looked at her curiously. “He was my eldest brother.”

 “Yes,” Gretchen said. “But just like your father, in so many ways.”

 “I don’t understand.”

 “You’ve never been to war.” Gretchen said. “More importantly, you’ve never been to war under the command of Carlos or AdãoSaverin.” She shook her head, and swapped her brush for a mane comb.

 “I - and a number of others - hoped that Adão might be more progressive than his father. It wasn’t to be, and all the female soldiers were again relegated to cannon fodder, regardless of skill, age, or speciality.”

 She raised her eyebrows humorlessly at Eduardo, who had paused in his brush work. “Emperor Marcus, on the other hand, could care less about our genitals, as long as we get the job done. And that’s how you ended up here, little prince.”

 “I’m sorry.” Eduardo said after a short while.

 Gretchen shrugged and tossed him the watering bucket.

“So am I,” she said. “You’re far too gentle to be cannon fodder.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Eventually the plains turned craggy, and Eduardo had to mind his horse’s bridle, and watch her feet least she stumble on rocks or into rabbit holes. The grass got darker, and the nights became chilly.

 “Is this Rome?” He asked Gretchen when they paused briefly for breakfast.

 “We are halfway there,” she assured him. “Now get back up, we are to ride through the days from now on.”

 Three days later, a group of riders hailed them from the east.  They reined in their horses, and Gretchen drew her sword, just in case.

 There was no need; it was Sy, accompanied by two servants. Their horses were loaded with fresh produce. Eduardo’s spirits dropped. Sy was not here to take him home, of course. He had merely fetched the goods that Eduardo was to present as tokens to the Emperor.

 Sy’s company awkwardly joined the Romans’ and they rode on together. Eduardo thought there might be tensions over Sy and his men not sharing the bounty of food they carried, but there was no such issue. It seemed that the Roman soldiers understood the goods they carried to be already the property of their emperor, and they merely its watchful guardians.

 The one thing that did marr Eduardo’s pleasure at seeing a friendly face, was that now Sy was around, the falantes de português would not breathe a word. Even Gretchen would do no more than acknowledge him kindly when he accepted his dinner rations from her hands.  Eduardo supposed they were afraid of being known as traitors, or they did not wish to be seen fraternizing with the enemy. He wished that Gretchen really could be his friend, as stupid and senseless and selfish a wish that might be.  He had Sy to turn to now, what more could he ask the gods for?

 The next day, they reached the capital.

 They paused on the outskirts one last evening on Sy's insistence. Ostensibly it was to properly time their arrival at court.  The insistence with which he pushed Eduardo towards the river, hands full of soap and pumice stones however, implied Sy was rather more worried about whether Eduardo would cut a competent figure as envoy of peace.

 Eduardo wasn’t too certain about that either. He washed thoroughly just in case, remembering to scrub behind his ears like his nursery maids had always cajoled him. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was supposed to do, beyond offering up their token of bounty, and looking appropriately obedient and contrite. Sy had shrugged off his enquires as to proper address or dialogue.

 “You can’t speak their tongue,” Sy told him. “You needn’t say anything. Simply incline your head and bare your throat. Go where you’re pointed. Obey any commands as best you can.”

 He was no more forthcoming with the details of how long they would be guests of the citadel either.

 “You are here at his Imperial Majesty’s leisure.” Sy told him distractedly, flicking through Eduardo’s belongings for an appropriate robe.

 “This one.” He said finally, handing Eduardo the finest white tunic he owned.

 “It’s too big,” Eduardo said uncertainly. He hadn’t seen the point in having Lucia alter it when he’d had no intention of wearing it at the time.

 “Good,” Sy said, “It’s better if you look smaller.” He helped Eduardo with some of the ties, using a neat but weak knot that Eduardo remembered from when he was a child just learning to tie his own clothes.

 “The cloth will look more plentiful, the folds more luxurious,” Sy said, nodding when Eduardo copied his knot style for the sake of consistency. “It can’t hurt for you to represent us as delicate but wealthy. There’s no threat in that. Only profit.”

 “So that the emperor will let us carry on administering the land?” Eduardo asked.

 “We can only hope.” Sy said, nodding. He did not smile though. There was no hope in his face. Eduardo didn’t ask him anything else.

 They started out again in the early hours, this time with Eduardo on one of the horses Sy’s men had led, perched awkwardly atop their finest linen and pelts.

 They were admitted through the gates by a quartet of puffy-eyed, portly soldiers just as day began to break, and Eduardo got to watch the sun begin to creep over the stone metropolis, transforming it from a labyrinth of shadowy nooks into a bustling marketplace that seemed to stretch on forever.

 Eduardo had never seen so much stone in his life.

 Gretchen’s contubernium peeled off smartly, headed for their barracks, and Eduardo barely had a chance to twist in his seat to watch them go. Gretchen raised her hand briefly, catching his eye and nodding sternly in a motion that Eduardo somehow knew was intended to embolden him. He wasn’t sure how it would look if he waved from his perch, so he settled for nodding back.

 They moved slowly through the streets, having to weave around not only citizens on their daily errands, but merchants with over-full carts, any number of philosophers proclaiming from every street corner, and layabouts - human and otherwise - haphazardly seated in the dust and mud of the street. Eduardo could not help but lean back and loudly whisper to his guardian in wonder.

 “Is it a holy day? Have we arrived in time for a festival?”

 Sy shook his head, and flicked his whip at a street child who strayed too close to their produce laden pony. “It is like this every day,”  he said. “This is only the morning; it is much worse later in the day.”

 “Not that you will see that,” he added, absently.

 It seemed like they slogged through the crowds for hours. Sy would not pause to permit Eduardo to purchase fruit from a street vendor even when they became embroiled in a traffic jam that appeared to have been caused by a shrieking old woman and an equally pitched merchant with a lamed donkey. When they finally made it over the rise of the street after the donkey was convinced to hobble into an alley, Eduardo saw why Sy had wanted him to stay put.

The palace dominated the horizon before them, white stone glinting coldly through the morning fog. The buildings they passed now were ostentatious, and the streets were cobbled and dry.  They passed an enormous building that Sy gestured to briefly.

“Baths,” he said. “I was invited to visit last time I was here. It was a very singular experience.”

 “Oh,” Eduardo said, not knowing what that might be to Sy. He imagined that anything one did in such a fine building would be singular though.

 “Very clean.” Sy said. “And there is the Forum,” he said offhand, waving at tall spires of columns in the near distance. “Politics, law, and debate. I’m afraid this may be a rather boring tour for you, Eduardo.”

 “It is rather the opposite, uncle,” Eduardo said, truthfully.

 It was a good thing that the sun was still climbing in the sky, as the closer they got to the palace the cooler the air seemed to get. Eduardo wondered whether stone could do that in such huge quantities. Just suck the warmth out of things. Wasn’t this rather the wrong place for such a material? It was far hotter in Saverin. To be fair, Eduardo supposed that the Romans might think their own summer heat rather oppressive if they were so used to venturing into the cold north to conquer as they had seemed in his father’s comrade’s fireside tales.

 The palace walls came upon them faster than Eduardo expected. He was glad, any longer in the open air and he would have started to sweat in his good robe.

 There were guards, so many guards. Eduardo was sure there were more guards at the gates of the palace than there had ever been in any battalion he’d watched his brothers lead into battle for Saverin.  They stopped Sy and bent over a scroll he produced from his saddlebags, then nodded and let them proceed to the next checkpoint, where the same thing happened again. No one spoke to Eduardo. They would not even meet his eyes, despite the respectful nods he tried to give them as they advanced.

 The palace itself was nested three checkpoints deep, each wall just as high as the last, and every guard just as stoic and efficient as the first. Eventually they reached the centre, where they were waved toward a large series of alcoves that seemed to serve as a visitors stable.

 They dismounted and handed their reins to a trio of young girls.  Sy tried to tell them something in Latin, but they shook their heads, and led the horses to a trough.  The smallest girl took charge of looping their reins to convenient hooks, whilst the older two stripped the horses of their burdens.  

 Sy followed them over and started arguing, pointing emphatically at a number of the bundles.  Eduardo fidgeted with his hem, and tried his best not to lean against the dirty stucco wall behind him.

 After a few minutes of almost amusing squabbling, Sy stomped over, one arm loaded with bundles, and plucked at Eduardo’s elbow.

 He pushed the biggest bundle into Eduardo’s arms, and pulled its sacking cover away. It was an immense basket. The other bundles were various fruits and vegetables, all carefully rolled in cloth and sacking. Sy arranged them rapidly within the basket with flourishes that Eduardo supposed were meant to convey artistic choice. It looked rather messy and precarious in his opinion. Not to mention heavy.

 Come.” Sy said. “It’s almost time.”

 

\---

 

It wasn’t time. In fact, it wasn’t time for a good two hours, much to Eduardo’s irritation.

“I thought that you said nine,” Eduardo whispered, shuffling the weight of the basket from the crook of his left to his right arm.

Sy gave him a look.

There were only others with gifts around them though, and none of them looked the type to know a word of Eduardo’s language. “Father always started court at nine,” Eduardo persevered.

“Most do,” Sy said finally, exasperated. He eyed up the family of peasants beside them, who were in turn eyeing up the grapes in Eduardo’s basket.

“His imperial majesty is a little unorthodox,” he said.

It was early afternoon by the time official proceedings actually started. Sy

relented around noon and allowed Eduardo to eat one of the more overripe apples. He refused anything, though Eduardo could hear his stomach complaining.

People began to go before the king, and the crowd slowly began to creep closer the the throne. It was a while until Eduardo realised he could actually see the king at this distance.

He was seated in a commanding throne that looked as if it had been hewn out of a massive block of marble. There were thick furs draping the seat and arms of the chair, and an odd looking young man seated at its foot, balanced on an outrageously tall pile of cushions. 

The king himself was...almost forgettable, in looks.  He wasn’t even looking at the nobleman who was entreating him on bended knee. He was motioning at a sour-faced blond courtier to his right, who promptly brought him a piece of bread and butter, of all things. He was lanky, with a certain broadness of shoulders and thighs that promised that with food and time he would be a dextrous but deft swordsman.  He also very badly needed a haircut.

 Eduardo found that his staring had passed the waiting time more quickly than he’d thought. Sy almost had to pick him up to startle him into scurrying before the king’s dais. He stood up straight, and tried to present the basket to best effect.  Hopefully the court would not notice his shaking arms.

 Sy spoke, but to Eduardo, most Latin speech sounded like a long, serious explanation, Sy’s more so than most.  

 “Bow to King Marcus,” Sy cued him eventually.

 Eduardo did his best, dipping as low as he did at official ceremonies for his father. He thought he might had lost a grape, but there was hardly anything he could do about it.

 Sy did not seem happy with the bow, but he fixed a smile on before he looked back to the king, waiting for his answer.  

 His highness, however, was now staring at Eduardo, eyes slitted like the tiny bitey lizards his brothers used to catch and fry in the sun.

 Eduardo did his best not to cross his gaze; no doubt it would be as punishable an offense here as it was in Saverin.  He could feel the prickle of calculating eyes on him, nonetheless.  Couldn’t he just take the gifts, so they could all be done with this?

“I will have him.” King Marcus said suddenly, in near perfect português, sweeping cold eyes over his body appraisingly.

Eduardo shuddered involuntarily, clutching the basket reflexively. A orange fell, but he didn’t hear it land.

Marcus repeated what Eduardo assumed was the same message in Latin to the assembly, and more personally, to Diplomat Sylvester.

He twisted to stare at Sy, betrayed.   His old friend was staring at his shoes, shoulders slumped, defeated – but – unsurprised.

“Dustin, --- --- -- -- -- -------.”

Dustin, from what Eduardo picked out, was a smiley boy with red hair like Eduardo had never seen before. He took the produce from him and pushed it at a footman, then took Eduardo’s hand warmly, squeezing his palm.

The corridors were marble floored and brightly frescoed, and seemed to stretch on for miles in every direction.  They passed dozens of servants and courtly people, and every person they encountered smiled or dipped a swift bow.  The luxury of the palace was almost overwhelming. Eduardo had thought his father’s traditional fiefdom had been the height of wealth, but the riches of this new-moneyed Boy King were so humbling that Eduardo felt sick when he thought of his previous arrogance.

What was it that Sy had told him as a child when he’d crowed over finally defeating the diplomat at chess?  

 “There is always a bigger fish, Princeling.”

 Here was the proof.

 “---- -- ---- ---- --?” Dustin asked, swinging their hands between them as they passed another smiling trio of courtly ladies. He gently pulled their hands back, pressing them into a barely polite bow.  The ladies tittered and curtsied shortly in turn before continuing on.

At home Eduardo never had to bow to anyone but his father and occasionally his elder brothers when they visited between campaigns. It was strange. Eduardo got the impression that Dustin was of a higher rank than every person they met, yet he showed them respect, almost as if it was for fun. He bowed along with Dustin for the rest of the walk, making sure to dip to a more appropriate level. He did not yet know where he stood in this world, and he’d rather be safe than sorry.

Dustin asked him what sounded like the same question as before.

 He stared at the boy, chewing his lip.

 Dustin seemed to remember that they did not share a language. “Ah!” he exclaimed, after thinking for a moment. He pointed at himself. “Dustin!”

 He pointed at Eduardo now, expectantly.

 Eduardo nodded. “His Imperial and Royal Highness Eduardo of Saverin,” he recited, remembering to add the addendum his brothers had relentlessly reminded him to use, “-Minor Prince.”

 Dustin looked nonplussed.

 Eduardo pushed his hand through his hair, and compromised. “Eduardo,” he whispered, touching his chest.

 Dustin smiled beatifically and indicated to a doorway at the end of their current colonnade. It was flanked by six guards, all armed with naked swords.  Eduardo stepped back unconsciously. King Marcus must be a cruel man to have so many people hate him to the point where he required six guards at his door.

Dustin squeezed his hand again gently, waving the guards back with the other. They were bowed into the quarters beyond, and the doors quietly shut after them.


	3. Chapter 3

A blonde man came in suddenly, an armload of scrolls and parchment on his hip.  He dumped the lot on the massive strategy table in the centre of the room, talking loudly, Eduardo assumed, at Dustin.

 Dustin sat up and shushed him, pointed at Eduardo, and broke into a torrent of indecipherable babble.  The blonde man answered him occasionally, approaching the bed slowly with his hands in plain sight.

 “-- -- ----- -----?” he asked, frowning when Eduardo leaned away from him.

 His brow crinkled, “-- you ----- ----?”

 Eduardo sat up a little, frowning back at the man.  He could swear that he’d almost–

 “Perhaps you speak portugues?”

 “You can speak my language!” Eduardo exclaimed, unable to halt his tongue.

 The man’s face lit up, and Dustin lifted his fist into the air, elated, understanding success no matter the language.

 “I am Chris.  This is Dustin. You, I presume, are King Carlos of Saverin’s youngest son, Lesser Prince Eduardo?”

 Eduardo nodded emphatically, recognising one of his alternative titles, despite Chris’s imperfect accent.

 “I am,” he said, bowing awkwardly from his sitting position.

 “Do you understand what has become of you?” Chris asked him quietly. He nodded at the bed and at Dustin, who had stretched himself across the dozens of cushions that littered the surface. He was watching them talk intently, a tiny wrinkle of confusion between his eyes as he listened to their lilting discussion.

 “I think -,” Eduardo faltered and his chin quivered momentarily. “I think I have been sold,” he said quietly. “My father- My mae-” his voice broke there and he covered his face, turning away from these strangers, this obscene wealth, the painfully soft bed wherein the conqueror of his lands would later despoil his body.

 They let him cry until he could breathe again. He scrubbed at his face with his tunic cuff in shame. “Please forgive me,” he asked them humbly. He had probably embarrassed them terribly.

 “You will be alright,” Chris told him kindly. He was leaning over the bed gingerly.

Dustin rolled closer and put his hand on Eduardo’s shoulder, clasping around his upper arm.  He wasn’t smiling any longer, but he still looked encouraging.  Eduardo was fairly certain that Chris had translated his words for Dustin whilst he’d been weeping.  There was a gentleness to their expressions that Eduardo took a moment to recognise as sympathy.

 “--- -- --.” Dustin said after a few moments, playing with a loose thread on Eduardo’s sleeve.

 Chris glared at him before loosely translating. “He says that King Marcus will take care of you. You don’t need to worry about that.  Your parents will also be fine. Mark does not take trading agreements lightly.”

 Eduardo calmed a little. “They will be cared for?” he asked Chris. “I understand that they may not rule again, but they must be looked after.”

 Chris crossed his fingers in the space between them decisively. “I promise you,” he said, honestly, because he could definitely do that much for him.

 Eduardo nodded in thanks.

“--- --- ---- ---- -- ---,” Dustin said, “------ - ------- ---?” He smoothed his hands over Eduardo’s tunic, started to carefully unlace the ties at his neck.

 Eduardo squawked, and pulled away, eyes flitting to Chris for explanation.

 Chris snapped a negative answer at Dustin and explained the situation to Eduardo.

 ”You need to understand that you are now effectively a member of the King’s Harem. Quite soon King Marcus will arrive to sample his purchase, as it were...” he said, distastefully.

 Chris pursed his lips, taking in Eduardo’s huge soft brown eyes, and the fear he was broadcasting in every movement.

 “Excuse my rudeness, your highness,” he asked politely. “Perhaps you could tell me whether you are untried?”

 Eduardo flushed right down his chest. “I beg your...”

 Chris sighed and pulled up a nearby ottoman, “Then you are a virgin, as they promised.”

 “Virgin!” Dustin picked out the word and repeated it, gleefully.

 “Oh, Mark will be pleased.” Chris muttered to himself.

 Eduardo wasn’t sure whether to be ashamed or relieved.  He certainly didn’t yet know Chris well enough to tell when he was being sarcastic.

 "As they promised," he repeated, quietly.

 "We've never been sent an unwilling consort," Chris said, almost to himself. "There's no way we can return you to your people without endangering the terms of the treaty, and Mark was so infuriating about the whole process that the forum would probably rather lynch him than reassemble before him until at least next month."

 "I'm sorry to be such trouble," Eduardo said apologetically.

 Chris stared, "Are you mad? You're the victim, the least you could be is miffed!"

 Eduardo ducked his head, shrugging. Chris was kind, but obedience was probably still the safest avenue for him to take now that he was alone.

 Chris sighed. "If we send you back, the forum would see it as the Saverin Kingdom not delivering a satisfactory tribute, and by default, reneging on their end of agreements," he explained. "I'd suggest that we simply make you a diplomatic guest of some form, but I fear that the household will treat you more kindly in the role of consort."

 "I understand," Eduardo said, humbled by Chris's foresight. "Thank you for your thoughtful concern."

 Chris winced, but accepted the compliment.

 "To be honest," he said more hesitantly, "I'd do it, regardless, but for the fact that you are Mark's, not mine."

 "I am grateful to be in your thoughts," Eduardo said, unfazed. He had not expected to escape his fate. That he might have kind allies throughout it was an unprecedented boon.

 “I am going to inform him of all of this,” Chris told him frankly, waving his hand about to indicate their conversation.  “I will beg him to be as gentle as he can, Eduardo, but I can’t guarantee that it will be painless or comfortable. Mark is, well...”

 “---- -- ----.” Dustin supplied helpfully.  He was lying back on the pillows already, legs askew, humming happily.

 He gazed at Eduardo through half-lidded eyes for a moment, and Eduardo blushed. Dustin winked and grinned back, as if he were already picturing Eduardo's gangly limbs spread out under their king's big hands.

 “Try to relax,” Chris said distractedly, glaring at Dustin. “Or you’ll find yourself very sore in the morning.”

 The door clicked and Eduardo jumped, wrapping his arms around his slender frame protectively. Dustin sat up eagerly like a puppy dog, and Chris swept his papers off of the table in time to intercept the Emperor at the door.

 “- ------?” he requested, laying a firm hand on Marcus’ forearm, and leading him back into the corridor for a moment.

 In the bed, Dustin cosied up next to Eduardo, whispering soothing nonsense against his neck until Marcus strode back into the room.

 He said something to Dustin, but his eyes were fixed on Eduardo. He came to a stop directly in front of Eduardo.  Dustin shuffled up into the cushions, leaving Eduardo alone on the edge of the bed.

Marcus looked him over again, his face blank and his eyes cold, just as he had in the throne room. He reached out, slower than Eduardo expected, and pushed at the shoulder ties that Dustin had mussed.

 “Who?” He asked, watching the heavy linen slide down Eduardo’s arm.  His voice sounded strange pronouncing Eduardo’s tongue. His syllables were clipped, his tone too flat to flow properly.

 “Dustin.” Eduardo answered, barely getting the sounds out. He flushed, somehow still embarrassed of his manners despite - despite all this.

Marcus grunted, apparently appeased.

"Remove this." Marcus said, fingering the fabric that had puddled around Eduardo's waist. He stood stock still before him, spine straight, forcing Eduardo to have to brush against his toga-draped thighs as he wriggled out of his robes.

The king immediately pushed the linen off the furs, lip curled. "In my quarters, you wear my cloth, or you wear nothing.”  

His hands went immediately to Eduardo's bared skin. They were large, an impressive span, with long fingers. Eduardo guessed that they would be soft with disuse. They were so pale.

"Yes, your highness," Eduardo stammered. He tried not to flinch when the hands ran lower on his sides and he felt the rough bump of calluses on each finger. Mark was a swordsman after all.

“You address me as Mark, or when at court, sire,” the king continued, pronouncing the word in the Latin way. It was the same word Saverin soldiers used to insinuate rude things about Latin leaders back home. It sounded servile but filthy in Eduardo’s head.

“Understand?” Mark said. He urged Eduardo backwards, to the center of the bed.

Eduardo nodded as he slid over the furs. Mark pulled his undergarments from him and threw them aside.  

“Chris told me you haven’t yet been fucked. Is he correct?”

Eduardo went hot. He nodded wordlessly, fixing his gaze on the pin at Mark’s shoulder.

“Lie back,” Mark commanded.

Eduardo slowly reclined, sinking into the cool embrace of soft furs. He closed his eyes as he went, trying not to listen to the rustle of Mark clambering astride his tightly closed legs.

His weight lifted and Eduardo shyly peered down his form. Mark was surveying his legs, one hand hovering above the right knee.

“Let me,” he said, quiet, and he wrapped his hand around Eduardo’s knee and spread him gently.

Eduardo took in a jerky breath and let his knees turn outwards, let his hips lift invitingly by a fraction. Mark settled between his legs, still toga bound like a tousled little spider surveying his supper.

Dustin said something quietly to Mark from his perch amongst the cushions.

Mark nodded back without looking up. “Dustin is correct. You are too thin.” He ran his thumb over the sharp edge of Eduardo’s hipbone.

“I don’t know why your people have sent me the bed-gift of a starving princeling. Many would call it an insult.”

Eduardo trembled as the digit ran across his belly.

“Luckily, you have one saving grace,” Mark said slowly, “your face is rather lovely. I look forward to watching it change as I fill you.”

Eduardo bit down on the insides of his cheeks to control the urge to shudder.  He felt his jaw twitch instead.

Mark lifted his hand and accepted a palm full of oil from Dustin.  

Eduardo tensed automatically, gritting his teeth in preparation.

To his surprise, Mark took hold of his soft cock instead, wrapping his fingers around it carefully. He tightened his grip minutely, coating him with the oil. It smelled musky and aromatic, like the old flowers he used to find scattered between the old furs in the Saverin treasure houses. Mark stroked him steadily, and Eduardo found it impossible to pull his gaze from Mark’s intent expression. He felt sure that if Mark were to take him now, he might warn him with his face somehow - his eyes would change before he hurt him, surely?

Mark’s eyes were grey though, cold like a stormy sea. Unpredictable.

He watched Mark swallow as he changed his grip from the soft petting stroke to a tighter pulse more familiar to Eduardo. It wasn’t far from the way he preferred to use his own hand.  He felt himself stir a little, reminded of the impending pleasure, despite the frightening surroundings.

Remembering Chris’s words, Eduardo tried to relax and accept the touch, resigned to wait out the ordeal despite his slowly rising arousal. He pressed his lips together, flushing a little with shame every time his throat caught in reaction to Mark’s squeezes. He was certain he would not come, at least not for a long time, but his climax began to creep up unexpectedly quickly when Mark began to run his thumb over the head of his cock.  Pinning him down by the shoulder almost finished him off, but Mark dropped Eduardo’s cock after a final tight pull, and ran his slicked hand between his thighs.

 He brushed over Eduardo’s hole in passing, and Eduardo couldn’t help but let out the smallest yelp of aroused surprise.  He came involuntarily, trembling and coating his own thigh with come.

 Then Mark was on his feet beside the bed, wiping his hands on a towel that Dustin held for him.

 “I suppose I should see about the business of your father’s payment.” Mark said shortly. “Dustin will see you fed. You will sleep here. I will not risk you in the harem until you are deflowered.”

 He motioned at Dustin, and the boy bounced down beside Eduardo and wiped him down softly with the clean side of the cloth.

 Eduardo shifted uncomfortably under Dustin’s ministrations, wanting to roll onto his side protectively, but not sure whether it would invoke punishment.

 Mark stood there in silence for a time.  He did not even adjust his toga, which had slipped down and ridden up in a manner that appeared most debaucherous.

 “You are to ask Chris for anything you need,” he added suddenly.

 Eduardo looked up. Mark’s over long hair was flatter now, he noticed. Wet and matted to his forehead with sweat.

 “Do you understand me?” Mark said, annoyed now. He pronounced the words slowly, accentuating the inflections. It betrayed him as a rote learner. Until now, Eduardo had never heard any fluent speaker of portugues enunciate entirely without flow. Most learners who could not pick it up gave up the language entirely, or learnt only clumsy commands and phrases of demand.

 “Do you understand me?” Mark said again. He knelt on the bed once more, stretched out far enough to take Eduardo’s chin in his palm.  

 Eduardo followed it obediently, sitting up as he was guided. He was shaking with a distant anger that felt personal, yet so alien. “Yes,” he said, barely able to choke out the word of acquiescence. “Yes, sire.”

 Mark frowned at his trembling chest. He pulled a fur up and around Eduardo’s shoulders. “Stay warm, princeling.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some slight alterations and corrects some time period issues I was bothered by in the original meme fill.

Eduardo weakly rolled himself into the darkness of the fur as soon as Mark left the chamber.  He stayed there, curled on his side for a long while, trying to stop shivering. It wasn’t as cold in the furs as it had been on top of them, but that wasn’t anything to do with his shudders anyway.  

 He couldn’t stop feeling the slick stroke of Mark’s hand between his legs.

 No one but he had ever-

 Eduardo shut his eyes tightly, and tucked his hands into his armpits, a safe distance from his cock. He was still a little dazed from climax, which helped him to drift off comfortably for what felt like the first time in weeks.

 He woke up as Dustin gently pulled the fur away from his face, the boy’s smile bright as before, despite his tentative hands.

“---,” he said. He pushed a plate across the bed to where Eduardo could see it.  There was bread and some meat Eduardo could not identify. It smelled good. Strange, but good. He let Dustin pull the furs down around his lap as he sat up.

 Chris was seated across the room at a large round table. He was frowning at a sheaf of papers in his hand, but judging by the speed at which he looked up and met Eduardo’s eyes, clearly he had been waiting to him to rise.  

 “It is boar, fresh from the king’s table.” Chris said, nodding at Eduardo’s meal. “Mark took it from his own plate to place on yours, and sent it with Dustin.”

 Eduardo broke the bread slowly, and ran a piece through the gravy.  It was warm to his tongue.  He scooped meat onto his next morsel, and let himself enjoy the food. It was hard to eat slowly when the food was this good, but his company did not seem perturbed by his ill manners.

 Dustin took his plate when he was done, replacing it with a fine goblet of hot wine, which he also served to Chris and himself.

 Dustin came back to sit with Eduardo on the bed, his leap almost losing both of them their drinks. He dragged another fur over Eduardo’s lap, and carefully felt his upper arms with a frown.

 “You feel cold,” Chris translated between sips. “Get under the furs or Dustin will be thrashed.”

 Dustin shot him a dirty look, and shook his head at Eduardo.

 Chris smiled. “I exaggerate,” he admitted, “but if you fall sick from cold, Mark punishing us all is not out of the question.”

 Eduardo took the fur out of Dustin’s hands and wrapped it around his shoulders securely.

 “It seems like King Marcus has a heavy hand,” Eduardo said quietly. He wasn’t willing to call him cruel aloud, but Chris seemed to understand his meaning.

 He laughed. “Yes, and no,” he said. “Look at how gentle he is being with you,” Chris smiled playfully at him. “Dustin tells me you are very pretty when you come.”

 Eduardo tamped down a shiver.

 Chris’s brow furrowed. “It’s out of character for him to be so caring with a consort.  Usually you would be relegated to the harem by now.”

 “Prince --- --- --,” Dustin said quietly. He was lounging on his favourite cushions once more.

 “Can he - can Dustin understand us?” Eduardo asked, suspiciously.

 “Very little,” Chris responded, making a face at the boy. “He’s clever though. If he keeps listening to Mark and me talk to you, he’ll pick up your language in a few months.”

 “Oh.”

 “And to answer Dustin’s question: it is not because you are a prince.” He shook his head at Dustin to ensure he got the message.  “Mark has been given many princes and princesses over the years. He discards them just as quickly as common courtesans.”

 Chris leaned forward in his chair thoughtfully. “I do think it is your face.”

 Eduardo stared.

 Chris shrugged.  “It happens to people sometimes. Once the cook saw the new maid we hired him last summer he was struck. He would bake anything to please her tastes.”

 “Are you making a joke?” Eduardo said slowly, his hands clenching the fur beneath him.

 Chris wiped the smile from his face. “You are very beautiful, and I urge you to take advantage of this,” he said.

 “My interests lie with those of the king politically and he remains my most trusted friend and ally,” Chris continued, folding his hands in his lap. “However, Mark’s harem, and his on-going acceptance of slaves and bed-gifts is something I find unconscionable. I would dearly wish to see every consort free to go as they wish, and no bed-gift ever accepted again, except as a refugee.”

 “You mean, there are others here like me?” Eduardo asked, mouth dry.

 “Not quite,” Chris said, “no other bed-gift I know of has ever been unwilling.”

 ‘I am not-” Eduardo snapped his mouth shut. He rubbed his eyes for a moment before meeting Chris’s gaze once more.

 “I do as my father expects of me,” Eduardo said slowly.

 “I know,” Chris said. “I know.”

 “If this is payment for keeping my mae safe,” Eduardo said haltingly, “I accept it wholeheartedly. I will please King Marcus in any way that I can.”

Chris nodded. “Then you will please him in his bedchamber,” he said. “You were not informed of the terms of the trade, I assume?”

 Eduardo bowed his head. “I was only instructed to present the bounty of our lands. I was under the impression that I would return to my home after surrendering our token of surrender and goodwill.”

 “The terms are a little cruder than that.” Chris told him. “Clearly you are very intelligent and well read, to have assumed such a pretty conclusion from so few clues.”

 Eduardo shook his head. “My father only allowed me to learn to read in order to keep my brothers company in the schoolroom. I am nothing exceptional.”

 Chris rubbed his temples briefly before he spoke. “The terms,” he said eventually, “principally state that the Saverin family surrender all lands, serfs, and crops to Marcus, Emperor of Rome.  They also state that in exchange for some modest lodgings and on-going protection, they offer their virginal son as a consort and bedgift to Emperor Marcus. Your father added something about the gift being a token of his respect for the Emperor’s virility. Ordinarily the Assembly would rather like that touch, but it came out in rather catty phrasing once translated to Latin.”

 “That sounds like my father,” Eduardo said, shrinking into his furs. “He doesn’t approve of...hedonism.”

 “We thought as much,” Chris said dryly, leaning back in his seat. “Luckily, you were not the disappointment your father seems rather insistent on branding you.”

 Eduardo shrugged.

 “No,” Chris said thoughtfully, lifting his hand away from the table as Dustin quietly refilled his wine goblet. “I think that you’re extremely exceptional, actually. Exceptionally lucky, exceptionally good natured, and exceptionally beautiful, to be exact.  You’re just going to have to work a little harder than you ever expected.”

 “I don’t follow,” Eduardo apologised, wondering if perhaps Chris had taken in a little too much wine.

 “You’re going to be a very powerful courtesan,” Chris said, his mouth stretching into a smug smile. “All you have to be is yourself,” he told Eduardo. “Be yourself, and very, very pliable. Can you do that?”

 Eduardo furrowed his brow, letting the furs around his shoulders slide into his lap. “I don’t understand exactly what you want me to do,” he admitted. “But if you think it will help, and if it also involves pleasing the emperor as I have been ordered, then I will try.”

 “Excellent,” Chris said, draining his full goblet, and setting it down on the table firmly.

 Dustin picked it up, looking curiously between Chris and Eduardo. Chris shook his head softly before Dustin could refill it, then stood up, swaying. He spoke gently to Dustin for a moment as he collected his papers from the table again, occasionally gesturing toward Eduardo.

 “Dustin will help you,” he said to Eduardo. “He knows everything about Mark, and he knows where I am most hours of the day, should you require me.”

 Eduardo nodded, thanking him copiously.

 “Just be yourself,” Chris reminded him. “Mark already enjoys you, and will relish you even more if you respond to him in kind. He can be-” Chris paused, swaying slightly, “a little strange,” he enunciated, “but if it consoles you, by all accounts, his virility apparently more than makes up for his terrible personality.”

 Eduardo awkwardly bid Chris farewell as he let Dustin fetch him a guard to help him out of the chambers.

 “Where am I?” Eduardo said quietly to himself, rolling the fur around himself. He laid himself awkwardly along the foot of the bed, hoping that he didn’t look too untidy. He wasn’t certain whether it was quite proper to get into the bed, especially when Dustin had gone no further than the cushions despite his familiarity with the bedroom.

 As he arranged himself, he listened to Dustin bustling about collecting all the goblets and plates, dropping them into a clanging basin one by one for later collection by a servant.

 He felt Dustin climb back onto the bed when he had finished making loud noises, and stiffened slightly when he felt an inquisitive pat on the head. He lifted his head slightly to look at Dustin, who was smiling at him as if there was not a thing in the world that worried him. Dustin pointed at his cushions, tugging gently at Eduardo’s fur. “Mark,” he said, “----- --- ---”.

 Eduardo stared blankly at him, but Dustin kept repeating the same incomprehensible phrase.  He gave in and let Dustin tug him and the furs into the cushions. Dustin pushed half of them aside and kicked the furs back with his feet, revealing layers of fine linens and soft woollen blankets. Eduardo blinked, but slid under them promptly. He was immediately warmer. Dustin followed swiftly, after leaping up for a moment to blow out all but a one of the dim lamps that lit the room.

 “Shhh,” he told Eduardo, shucking his own tunic and cuddling up against his side.

 “Shhh,” Eduardo whispered back, almost cracking a smile at how his copycat response immediately shook a laugh out of his friendly bed companion.

“Will Marcus come back soon?” Eduardo whispered after a time.

 Dustin merely tightened his embrace of Eduardo’s shoulder.

 “I’m afraid,” Eduardo said even quieter.

 Dustin pressed his cheek warmly against Eduardo’s skin. “--- --- - Mark, -- - - ----,” he whispered back soothingly.

 “I don’t understand.” Eduardo said, pressing his eyes tightly shut. “I don’t understand,” he repeated, concentrating on his breathing. He felt woozy from panic, but warmer than he’d been in weeks. He drifted off, ears full of his slow breaths and Dustin’s incomprehensible whispered commentary.

 

\---

 

The next morning, through some witchcraft of exhaustion, Eduardo only succeeded in opened his eyes for a few moments before they dropped shut again, sticking like honey, unwilling to allow him to waken properly. The bed stayed warm, though Dustin's presence seemed to come and go, and Eduardo lost track of time, slipping in and out of slumber to find himself endlessly in the same cavernous candlelit chambers.  Dustin bundled him up in a soft mink and walked him into a cool dark privy room that ajoined the far wall on at least two occasions. There was food more frequently, although Eduardo did not care for much of it until his body released its vicelike grip on his consciousness.

For the first time in days, he was able to open his eyes fully, only to see nothing but the thick fluffy fibres of furs. His hands were slower to wake, but they responded well enough to push aside the top layer of blankets that obscured the world.

Eduardo could not remember when it might have been that Mark returned to the chamber, but the king was certainly there now, sitting across the table from Chris, both of them hollow eyed and cross-looking as they picked at dried fruits and stared angrily at their respective scrolls.

Chris saw that Eduardo had awoken. He nodded at him, and said something quietly to Mark in Latin. Mark turned in his own chair and surveyed him.

“Good morning,” he said.

“I hope you slept well,” Chris added.

Eduardo sat up slowly, clutching the blankets around his shoulders. He bowed his head in the best version of a bow he could manage whilst abed. “I am very well, sire,” he responded, inclining his head toward Mark, “my lord,” he said, bobbing at Chris in turn.

 Mark nodded back, still chewing slowly.  

 Chris smiled encouragingly at him. “Dustin will look after you today,” he said brightly. “He will be able to show you most palace chambers and procedures by example, and anything you are confused by, you can ask me or Mark about later.”

 Eduardo hazarded a glance at Mark. He did not look particularly open to explanations with his heavy brow furrowed at his scrolls again.

 Chris rolled his eyes and stood up. “I’ll see you later today,” he said to Eduardo, before turning to Mark and saying something in Latin. Mark ignored him and Chris sighed, threw up his hands, and left.

 Eventually Mark seemed to come to the end of his scroll. He looked up, seemingly just noticing that Chris had left. His eyes slid to Eduardo instead, face as inscrutable as it had been while he’d been reading. Eduardo shuffled in the blankets uncomfortably, hauling them a little higher.

 “Are you still cold?” Mark asked suddenly.

 Eduardo blinked. “Yes?” he said, hesitantly. The only time he’d been warm since entering the palace had been when Dustin had curled up behind him to share body heat. Even now, when he would normally still be sleep warm, he could tell that the flesh of his arms would be chilly to the touch. Even the reaches of his lower back were crawling with the cool fingers of frosty morning air.

 “This is not even the north,” Mark said, almost mockingly. He got up and walked over to an archway set into the far wall. He returned with an elaborately embroidered winter robe in a fuzzy royal blue cloth. Silver and gold threads ran through it, almost indiscriminate in their directions. It looks like something a wealthy merchant from the eastern lands might wear. It had clearly been commissioned for the king’s personal wardrobe, although it had obviously never been worn.

 Mark carried it to the bed and pulled Eduardo’s blankets away from him.

 Eduardo recoiled, immediately shivering in the cold air.

 “Put it on,” Mark said, pushing the robe at him.

 Eduardo didn’t argue, taking it and clumsily pressing his hands through the sleeves, drawing the lapels tightly shut at the front.

 Mark stared the whole time, eyes traversing his body as if he hadn’t already touched and taken stock days before.

 “You look like you belong to me now.” Mark said shortly.

 Eduardo nodded shyly.

 “You will have to get used to the climate,” Mark said. “Today is fair, if not warm, and winter is yet to come.”

 Eduardo looked up, dismayed. “Warm? I cannot bear this-” he bit down on his words immediately, cursing his tendency to speak over his betters.

 If anything, Mark looked amused. “I’m sure I can find several ways to keep you warm,” he said, shrugging. “Lie in my bed long enough and I will ensure that winter will pass before you know it.”

 Eduardo flushed involuntarily, his cheeks betraying his body’s appreciation of Mark’s idle threat.

 Mark’s lips quirked briefly. He leaned against the edge of the bed, reaching for Eduardo’s face. Eduardo let him brush his fingers against his cheek softly before pulling away, shivers entirely unrelated to cold running through his core.

 “Come here,” Mark said, tugging at the blue robe. Eduardo shuffled to the edge of the bed, clutching the robe around him.

 "You slept two nights and a day" he said, stooping to Eduardo's level. "I grew hungry watching you slumber, and you were a very expensive morsel." He tangled his hand tightly in the hem of the velvet robe.

 “I’m going to fuck you soon,” Mark told him calmly. “It might be tomorrow, it might be next week, but I am going to be the one to fuck you first, and you’re going to like it.”

 Eduardo’s mouth went dry, and he tried to turn away. Mark’s hand caught him by the chin, pulling him back to meet Mark’s cool stare.

 “Once you’re used to that,” Mark went on, matter of fact, “I’ll fuck you every night, perhaps every morning. Whenever I want to see this beautiful face crumple with pleasure.”

 “Why are you saying this?” Eduardo choked out. He could feel his blush creeping down his neck and chest.

 Mark shrugged. “Mostly so I can humiliate your father at treaty negotiations.”

 Eduardo tensed, tearing his chin out of Mark’s grip.

 Mark smirked, “And also because you are obviously aroused by crude talk.” Mark stroked his fingertips along Eduardo’s jaw and down his throat.

 “Do you disagree?”

 Eduardo struggled with his answer. He squeezed his eyes shut against the frustrated shame prickling behind them. “No, sire,” he whispered.

 “That’s convenient.” Mark said, dropping his hand from Eduardo’s throat, “seeing as it’s apparently a miracle I can talk at all, if you were to believe Chris’s complaints.” Mark stood up and went back to his seat at the table.

 Eduardo drew in a shuddering breath. He fought the urge to bury his face in his hands, settling for deep breaths and clenched fists.

 “I want to see you wearing this robe when you return to my chambers this evening.” Mark said, not looking up again.

 Eduardo nodded, knowing Mark already knew his answer.


	5. Chapter 5

Dustin reappeared just long enough after the altercation for Eduardo’s blush to have dissipated. He danced around Mark and held his hands out to pull Eduardo upright with enough energy that they almost bounced in place.  

 Eduardo was more than happy to leave the king’s chamber for unknown places, even though the marble floors were like cold needles on his bare feet. All of the clothes Eduardo had worn into the palace seemed to have disappeared completely, and Eduardo had no idea what had become of the belongings he had packed weeks earlier. It was something to ask Chris about later.

 Like the day before, Dustin and he bowed to multiple small groups of nobles and some servants as they progressed through the halls. Frequently Dustin stopped a moment to introduce them to one another, saying nearly the same phrase every time. Eduardo came to understand that the Latin meant something along the lines of “This is Eduardo”, but he was also fairly certain that the people he was introduced to were perfectly well aware of his identity and his purpose in the palace. They were all exceedingly kind and polite, from what Eduardo could tell from their tones and faces. Several of them complimented his robe, gesturing with awe at the shining threads. He nodded and confirmed Dustin’s short question about its origin: “Mark?”

 The air gradually became thicker and warmer, and when Eduardo found himself walking through a shallow river of lukewarm water he realised where they were going.

 “Baths?” he said to Dustin, remembering what his uncle had called them. Had that really been only yesterday morning?

 Dustin clapped and made a noise of assent that Eduardo noted as a possible Latin “yes”. He ushered Eduardo into a room that completely transfixed him - it was an immense indoor bath. Many men milled around the edges and even more waded or sat serenely in the water: elderly men, adult men, young men and children. A light warm steam rose off of the surface, and Eduardo felt that he wanted more than anything to lower himself into the warm waters.

 Dustin tugged him away, and Eduardo followed reluctantly, sucking in a breath of the humid air to tide him over.

 They walked through a number of equally full rooms, one distinctly less popular, possibly because the water did not give off anything but the glaze of an icy river. There were steamy rooms, temperate rooms, rooms with men lifting weights. They ran past the archway of a bathing room filled with young women, many of whom playfully shouted after Dustin as he darted by.

 Past all these baths, Dustin finally pointed to a closed door, decorated with colourful mosaic. “---- -- Mark ---,” he said, pushing the door open. When they entered, Eduardo understood what he had said. This was a private bath.

 Two servants greeted them quietly, a tidy looking boy and girl. They both inclined their heads, and Dustin turned to Eduardo and started to slowly try to explain something. Eduardo smiled at him and gestured for him to simply do whatever it was he was trying to convey.

 Dustin laughed and spoke kindly to their attendants, who nodded. The boy asked Dustin a question that Dustin nodded enthusiastically about, and they were promptly led into a room with benches, hooks on the wall, and two small alcoves that Eduardo realised were latrines. Dustin gestured towards them and Eduardo nodded thankfully and took advantage of their availability.

 Once he returned he saw that Dustin had undressed and was sitting impatiently on the bench, the girl servant methodically folding and handing his tunic and other garments safely on the pegs behind him. Dustin motioned for him to do the same, and Eduardo nodded and obeyed, awkwardly letting their shared servant take his fine robe and reverently hang it out of harm’s way.  

 The girl led them to another room filled with warm air and lined with stone benches. Here there were five further doorways, one leading into a room with exercise equipment much like that in the public bath they had passed earlier. The other rooms contained pools of distinctive differing sizes. Dustin pointed at the first on the left and shook his head, rubbing his arms to indicate cold. He pointed at the middle room and waved his hand from side to side in front of him, clearly indicating medium or so-so temperature. Lastly, Dustin pointed to the third door and then froze, clearly uncertain of how to gesture high heat. Eduardo laughed and patted him gently on the shoulder to assure him that he understood.  

 Dustin grinned and pointed to the warm bath. He showed him how to carefully descend the built in steps, where the ceramic tiles were sharp, and where the water bubbled warmest, talking the whole time, but also gesturing inventively.

 Eduardo just smiled back at him, enjoying the warm water. Dustin was the first Latin speaker who had ever made him think of the language as fun or melodic. Eduardo supposed he must only have met very boring Romans until now. They lingered in the water for at least half an hour, just on the cusp of wrinkled fingers.

 The boy servant who had disappeared earlier came in then, bowed to them, and then addressed Dustin quietly. Dustin laughed and seemed to heap praise upon the boy. He stood then, and clambered carefully out of the tub, waiting patiently for Eduardo to follow him back into the room with the warm air. The two servants awaited them there, now accompanied by a third girl. She bowed like the others and smiled at Eduardo.

 “Good morn. My name is Amy. I teach you today.”

 Eduardo gasped in surprise, covering himself up automatically.

 Amy smiled. “No worry, I am no conservative Saverin maid.” She thought for a moment. “Not even from Saverin at all.”

 One of the other servants silently draped a thin robe around his shoulders, apparently instructed to ensure their patron’s comfort at all times.

 Amy said something to Dustin in Latin, and beckoned at Eduardo.

 “Come with me to other chamber. Dustin will be oiled and exercised. I will explain.”

 Dustin nodded encouragingly at him, so Eduardo followed her to a small private chamber opposite the bathing alcoves.

 It was warm and steamy like the main room, only more private. There were benches and pegs, as throughout the rest of the baths, but also large basins with perpetually running water, a high curiously cushioned bench, and a long table displaying precious soaps in dishes, jugs of amber coloured oils, various interesting instruments, and stacks of fine cloth.

 Amy saw him orientating himself and smiled, gesturing for him to sit beside her on the benches. She maintained a polite distance, to Eduardo’s relief.

 “I am sorry for my patchy português,” she apologised first. “I will get better as I speak it again. I only spoke it with my father, and he has been dead some years now.”

 “My condolences,” Eduardo said immediately, dropping his head in the customary response to news of death.

 Amy cocked her head. “You act just like him,” she said wonderingly. “Are you old-fashioned, or was he very Saverin, I wonder?”

 Eduardo smiled nervously. “I dare say both assumptions may be correct.”

 Amy laughed, slapping her legs through her robes.

 “You must wonder why I am speaking to you,” she said then, seriously. “I will be frank with you. Dustin is a friend, and I came immediately to you because we share many things, you and I.”

 Eduardo nodded slowly. “A language?” he said slowly.

 Amy nodded. “Also more,” she said. “You will have Mark, I have had Mark.”

 Eduardo sat back in surprise, blood running cold with a fear he could not pinpoint.

 “Shh,” Amy said, lifting her hand as if to soothe him, but pulling away before touching his skin. “You have no need to hate me. I have my own patron now. Very powerful.”

 “I was only a little fly-by-night,” she went on, flicking her fingers at the steamy air to illustrate her fleeting affair. “Firebug. One time, when I first came to the inner court. It was fun,” she raised an eyebrow at Eduardo, “you will like him very much. But he did not like me, so.” Amy shrugged.

 Eduardo coughed, staring at his feet to avoid looking at her face.

 “So meek!” Amy said teasingly. “This is what he likes, I think.” She tapped her fingers on the benches. “Dustin was very excited. He told me that you were a virgin. I couldn’t believe it!”

 Eduardo peered up at her face, refusing to blush about this topic again. “I am,” he admitted.

 Amy covered her mouth, then slapped her hands on her knees. “No wonder Dustin needed me for teaching you!” she said. “Most importantly, you need to know about oil,” she said sagely, reaching for a nearby jug.

 Eduardo edged a little further down the bench.

 “Oh, but soap,” she mused, hand turning towards the dish instead. She took a soap from the dish, and showed it to Eduardo. “Come here,” she said, noticing his movements, “I won’t touch you, promise”.

 Eduardo relented and took the soap she was offering. “I’ve seen soap,” he said.

 “Good,” said Amy. “I hadn’t, til I started working in the baths. My father was from Saverin. Ex-soldier. My mother was a chambermaid. Sometimes courtesan.”

 Eduardo blinked.

 Amy shrugged. “There’s no shame in being courtesan here. I am now. Perhaps you will be one day? You would be wealthy quickly, I think.”

 “A lovely seahorse,” Eduardo said instead of answering, pointing at the soap.

 Amy nodded and moved on. “Yes. With the soap, you must be careful to wash everywhere,” she said. “Everywhere and as often as possible. You can use as much soap as you want. Yes?”

 Eduardo nodded. “Understood,” he said.  

“Secondly: oil.” Amy got up and poured from a jug of oil into a little dish that she handed carefully to Eduardo. “In the baths it is for oiling the body before cold air strikes, or to rub the ache out of muscles. In bedchambers, there are other uses that I am sure you may imagine.”

She dipped her finger into the oil and demonstrated how slickly her skin passed between thumb and forefinger. “You cannot have too much oil,” Amy told Eduardo. “A man like Mark, sometimes you must remind. They become single-minded.” She smiled. “He is not a monster, or an idiot.” she said. “He knows that if he hurts you badly, he will not be allowed to fuck you for days.”

Eduardo felt a little uncertain about that, and it showed on his face. Amy shook her head at him. “Our healers are very good,” she assured him.

“Have you ever prepared yourself?” she asked, playing with the oil on her fingers idly. “You should practice before you run out of time.”

“I-” Eduardo stammered, staring at Amy. “I don’t know how.”

Amy grinned. “I will tell you,” she said. “First, the oil, put some on your fingers.”

Eduardo did so.

“Now you must touch some to your opening,” she said, “get used to the touch and rub it in for now.”

Eduardo bit his lip. “I can’t when- you-”.

Amy pulled her legs up and twisted around so she couldn’t see him. “Better? I won’t look, I will just tell you. You tell me how it is working.”

“Okay,” Eduardo agreed faintly.

He dragged the silk robe out of the way and thought about how he was going to do this. He settled for pulling both his knees up onto the bench and crouching there with his thighs spread and his back straight.

“That sounds like a good choice,” Amy hummed, still safely faced in the opposite direction. “Now relax.”

Eduardo frowned at her back but dipped his fingers back into the oil, and reached behind him to rub gently against his asshole. He spread the slick oil all around it, rubbing softly as Amy had recommended. He added more oil after a little while, and rubbed the pads of his fingers over the hole experimentally.

“Are you alright?” Amy asked dreamily. “You can try to press your finger inside now,” she said. “Don’t worry if it won’t work right away. Just keep rubbing and relaxing.”

“Alright,” Eduardo said quietly.

Amy hummed again in response. “I like to think of what I like being done to me when I’m preparing,” she said, “it’s more fun like that.”

Eduardo touched more oil to his hole thoughtfully. What he liked? He’d never had anything- Eduardo remembered suddenly the night before, when Mark had touched him here so briefly.

Perhaps...perhaps Mark touching him there would feel just as good for longer periods of time. Perhaps if Mark prepared him. It seemed unlikely, but Eduardo thought about it as he pressed just the tip of his index finger into his tense opening.

From what he knew of Mark now Eduardo imagined that he would be brusque with his movements.

He would oil his fingers and methodically circle Eduardo’s tight hole until it surrendered to his first calloused fingertip. He would stop then, withdraw for more oil before pressing in again and continuing to coax Eduardo open from the inside.

 From the moment of penetration, of course, he would likely smirk at him for whimpering as his most intimate hole was violated by a stranger.

 Eduardo shivered at that thought, suddenly realising that he had managed to breach himself with one finger. He made a little noise of surprise.

 “So soon!” Amy exclaimed without turning. “Have you one inside?”

 Eduardo nodded before clearing his throat and answering properly. “Yes,” he said.

 “Very good,” Amy said. “You must be a natural. Please try one more now. And remember oil,” she prompted him. “If I needed oil, then you will need an awful lot of oil, little prince.”

 Eduardo murmured assent, and reached for more oil, trying to ignore his half hard dick.

 He gingerly began to press two fingers inside, suppressing quiet whimpers as he pushed the tips inside himself.

 “Don’t hide the sounds when you are with him,” Amy said softly. “He’ll like your sounds.”

 Eduardo sucked in a breath, and concentrated. He imagined Mark invading him, making him take in long, thick finger after finger, whispering crudely in his ear about how he wouldn’t be a virgin for much longer.

 He imagined Mark’s other big hand on his hip, pressing him down until he was effectively fucking himself on Mark’s slippery fingers. Experimenting, Eduardo pulled his fingers almost all the way out, and then slid them back in again. He moaned involuntarily, ducking his head in embarrassment afterwards.

 Amy did nothing but cock her head and hum.

He repeated the movement, slowly fucking himself with two fingers until he became used to the sensation. The deeper he pressed, the more he felt that there was a release awaiting him there in the distant future. He slipped down his fingers one more time, shivering, Mark’s cruel reptilian gaze flashing behind closed eyes.

 He withdrew gently, stretching stiff legs whilst reaching for a cloth from the table.

 "Thank you, Amy,” he said, pulling the thin robe around his shoulders again.

 Amy turned around, a smile lighting up her face. Her glee was almost as infectious as Dustin’s. “You’ll be fine,” she told him confidently. “You should practice with three later too! Ask Dustin for me if you need to learn anything else.”

 Eduardo nodded seriously. “I am grateful,” he said shyly. “No one else seems able to speak to me..like you do. Chris is kind, but very formal, so...thank you.”

Amy beamed. “Good,” she said. “Please call on me at any time.”

She accompanied him back into the warm mid room, where Dustin was looking decidedly more sweaty, and was having the last of a coating of oil scraped from his back.

Dustin smiled at Eduardo, nodding and looking even happier when Eduardo nodded back eagerly. He said something quickly to Amy who translated.

“Dry off and get dressed,” she said. “Dustin wants to take you to the kitchens soon.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit sex.

Eduardo took a towel from the unoccupied servant and followed her back into the undressing room. He dried himself shyly and let her help him back into the beautiful blue robe Mark had given him. She admired it again, speaking melodically in Latin and pointing at the pretty little adornments. Eduardo thanked her in his own tongue, bowing his head, and she became flustered, bowing back as twice as low. She motioned for him to remain where he was for a moment and disappeared momentarily into a dim corner of the room. She came back with slippers in her hands, soles soft, but thick and sturdy enough to avoid any shallow puddles. They looked expensive, and the fabric almost matched the blue of his robe.

 She presented them to him, pointing at the robe and smiling.

 Eduardo made a fuss of them without having to try very hard. They were very beautiful slippers - they were much better shoes than any noble in Saverin could ever have possibly owned. He tried to politely refuse them but the girl insisted, smiling and pointing at the matching robe. Eventually, she said something about King Marcus, and Eduardo relented, wondering whether Mark had sent them to the baths. He thanked the girl profusely, sorry that he had no Roman coin to gift her. She seemed happy enough that he sat to put them on, and when Dustin came in, she pointed them out to him happily, and dressed him quickly.

“Mark?” Eduardo asked, lifting his foot towards Dustin when he sat to secure his own sandals.

“Mark,” Dustin confirmed.

Eduardo looked down at the shoes, worrying gently at his lower lip until Dustin rose and took his arm warmly, leading them back into the wide corridor they had entered from. The servants who had met them farewelled them in kind, bright tones, and the doors snicked shut again.

The way to the kitchens was yet another rambling route through huge inhabited chambers and open air porticos. Dustin greeted all the beautifully robed people they met with his typical polite bows and Eduardo found he had become so accustomed to the habit that he began to dip into them almost before the pull of Dustin’s arm cued him.

The people they met slowly became more and more often dressed in servant’s robes, and Dustin would merely nod greetings, allowing them to scurry on their way to complete their errands.

The smell of new bread and the crashing and banging of crockery and chopping alerted Eduardo to the closeness of their destination before they arrived. Dustin slowed as they approached the broad archway, peering around the corner before he led Eduardo into the chambers.

Eduardo understood why he had checked their way before entering - there were at least twenty people milling around various stations and benches. Some were hauling immense racks out of blackened furnaces, some dashing around their tables to tend to a series of boiling pots. There were a whole team of giggling children scrubbing efficiently around a tub full of dirtied crockery.

 Dustin pushed him gently up onto a stool in the corner, and slipped into the fray. The children at the tub glanced over to him for a moment, eyes appraising, before they returned to their huddle with a roar of laughter. Eduardo smiled at them weakly. As uncomfortable as it felt to be laughed at in a foreign land, it warmed him to see happy children, at least.

 Dustin returned carrying a tray triumphantly over his head, dodging out of the way when one of the braver washerchildren leapt up to playfully snatch at the food. He tsked and wagged his foot at her in warning.

 The bread was as new as it had smelt to Eduardo in the corridor, and he broke it eagerly and devoured half. Dustin took up the other piece and began to tear at it with his teeth in turn. He stopped after a moment and pointed at it, swallowing his mouthful before he said a single word. He had to repeat it twice before Eduardo understood and repeated it whilst pointing at the food. “Bread,” he offered in exchange.

 Dustin grinned and began to rapidly point at the other morsels he had snatched from the larder. Some of them Eduardo had ready translations to trade, some he had to taste before he could declare, and some - some he had no idea what to call. These he practiced harder, trying to memorise the foods he liked and the foods he found particularly distasteful.

 It became their game for the rest of the afternoon; Dustin dragging him into rooms and pointing demandingly at items until they had mastered each other’s pronunciations. Despite the numerous destinations Dustin took them, Eduardo noted that they saw neither hide nor hair of Mark or Chris.  He thought to ask Dustin the best way he knew how - but thought better of it. With his limited Latin vocabulary extending only to nouns and inflections Dustin would likely assume that he was asking to be taken to one of the two. He suspected they were probably well occupied with administration. Eduardo did not wish to be a burden on Chris’s kindness, nor to arouse Mark’s ill temper so early.  

 They were walking quietly through a breezy portico, not trading words for the moment when one of the ever-hurrying servants stopped Dustin a moment. He darted a nervous look at Eduardo before addressing Dustin awkwardly. Dustin’s gentle smile inverted at whatever the boy’s words were and his brow wrinkled up.

Eduardo turned his eyes away from their evidently private conversation and observed the open air courtyard beside them. The sun was just beginning to dip behind the white marble of the palace, and the shadows had already swallowed up the hollows of the portico opposite. Eduardo assumed servants would be coming past to light torches and candles soon, but for the moment, the loss of light left the marble  washed with a cold blue cast.  He shuddered, from more of a creeping anxiety than the creeping coolness of evening.

 Dustin laid a warm hand on the back of his neck, evidently done with his conversation. He turn to meet Dustin’s smile, only to find it a little more strained than he had yet seen it.

 “Chris -- --- --,” he said, pausing a moment before going on, “--- Mark.”

 Eduardo nodded, allowing Dustin to gently lead him back to the rich royal chambers.

Chris and Mark were already there, this time with Chris seated as Mark paced around the table, talking with his hands almost as violently as he was snapping at Chris in Latin.

Dustin did his best to walk them around the side Mark wasn’t pacing, fleeing to his favoured spot in the cushions. The bed had been made up whilst they’d been out, the furs clean and glossily brushed.

Their entrance did not escape Mark, who wheeled around as soon as Eduardo touched the bed, and made a fierce motion like he was about to follow him over and throw him into the furs.

“Eduardo needs a couple of days to acclimatise,” Chris said quickly in português, glancing at Eduardo. “He’s still recovering from his journey, and his disposition is delicate.”

Eduardo ducked his head in silent thanks, shaking a little at the look Mark had fixed him with moments before.

“There’s no longer time to waste,” Mark said, pushing Chris’s papers impatiently to the edge of the table. “Winklevii -- ----,” he told Chris, the tone like that of a reminder. He glared at him. “Get out.”

Chris huffed. He met Eduardo’s eye, mouth quirking down in a barely perceptible apology.

Eduardo gave him a tiny smile. There was nothing to be done. Chris had done his best to buy him the time to get used to his new role, but it was time for him to stand on his own two feet and assume...his responsibilities.

 “Get out.” Mark hissed again, setting his shoulders threateningly.

 Chris picked up his things and left.

 Dustin scrambled across the bed and wrapped his arms around Eduardo’s middle, excitedly chattering as he removed the rich blue robe.

 “What…” Eduardo said slowly, unsure whether he was allowed to speak.

 Mark looked at him.

 “What is Dustin saying?” Eduardo finished quietly. He really wanted to ask what Mark was so riled about, but that was really asking too much. Better to play dumb and pleasant.

 Mark snorted, kicking off his sandals. “Inane rubbish, mostly.”

 Eduardo looked at his bared knees. “Oh.”

 Dustin finally pulled all of the fine cloth from him, leaving Eduardo stark naked, skin prickling into gooseflesh in the cool air of the chamber. Mark dropped his own robes on the floor like they were rags, and climbed onto the bed, where he pushed Dustin out of the way and pulled Eduardo into his lap.

 His skin was warm, and his cock - Eduardo had tried not to look as Mark had disrobed - felt poker hot prodding between his thighs. It was not small, Eduardo let himself realise, fear gnawing gently at the back of his mind.

 “Dustin,” Mark said eventually, “was telling me that you smelled like clean soap from my baths.”

 “I do, sire.” Eduardo agreed.

 “He was telling me that you were very obedient today, that you did everything you were told.”

 “I tried, sire,” Eduardo said, wriggling as he felt Mark’s cock stiffening and swelling against the underside of his ass.

 “He told me you learned to prepare yourself for my cock.”

 Eduardo flushed, nodding instead of answering.

 “Did you learn this?” Mark asked again.

 “Y-yes, sire.” Eduardo said quietly.

 “Are you prepared now?” Mark asked. He tipped Eduardo forward, off of his lap, and spread him to inspect.

 Eduardo make a soft sound he couldn’t control as he was manhandled onto his stomach, but he co-operated, displaying the slick opening.

 He heard Dustin say something quietly, and heard the splash of oil being poured. It occurred to him very suddenly that he was about to be ravaged.

 He felt warm calloused hands smooth over his thighs.

 “Are you prepared?” Mark repeated, running a thumb over the round of Eduardo’s ass.

 Eduardo trembled and nodded. “Yes, sire,” he said as clearly as he could manage.

 He pushed back gingerly into Mark’s palms, a tremor of anticipation spreading through his belly as Mark’s slick fingers rubbed between his legs, one warm fingertip circling and pressing against his opening.

Eduardo whimpered and pressed back almost unconsciously, eyes sliding shut as he realised that his imaginings had been nothing but a pale imitation. He felt his own cock swell and bump gently against the furs as Mark moved him where he pleased. Mark’s fingers were forceful and clever, and he didn’t coax. He took.

“Wait-” Eduardo whispered some moments later, “wait, please, please.”

Mark paused momentarily, the three fingers pulling free of his tight hole with agonising care.

“What is it?” Mark asked, voice rough.

Eduardo felt the warm drip of more oil poured over his ass, into his hole now too. He shuddered, his thighs finally failing him. He pressed his face against the cool furs, stalling. “You said tomorrow,” he said after panting for a moment, “you said you might fuck me tomorrow.”

He tensed automatically for the blow he expected to follow his smart remark. It would be worth it for the moment to catch his breath, to adjust to the feeling of being stretched so fast.

Mark laughed instead, quiet and low. He slapped Eduardo on the back of the thigh, the oil making the sound obscenely loud, despite it not hurting at all. Eduardo felt him lean over his body to answer him, voice cruelly close to his ear. “I’ll fuck you whenever I please, Eduardo.”

Eduardo gasped, jerking as he felt all three fingers return at once, penetrating and stretching him out with ruthless oiled thrusts.

“Ohhh,” Eduardo sobbed.  

Mark’s fingers were stroking him at some strange perfect angle that made him want to shiver right out of his skin. He almost didn’t register being pulled upright again and turned like a ragdoll onto his back. The firmly rubbing fingers disappeared, to his disappointment, and instead, he found his hips lifted and a much greater heat breaching him.

Eduardo blinked and took in the king between his thighs. “Please don’t hurt me,” he pleaded, tongue loosened by pleasure and warmth. He flushed immediately, but Mark’s only response was to frown down at him and take a saucer of oil from Dustin to pour over his cock as he pushed it slowly against Eduardo’s opening.

 Eduardo threw his head back against the bed, eyes slitted, mouth wide open with his harsh breaths.

 “Please,” Eduardo choked out again.  The head of Mark’s cock felt blunt and huge, but it was slick enough, after all.

 He tried to relax as the fat shaft nudged him open, biting his lip as it slid deeper into his ass. Mark pulled it free, rubbed more oil over Eduardo’s hole and then pressed in again, building up a gentle rhythm of thrusts as Eduardo panted in surprised arousal and tried to control his nervous clenching muscles.

 Dustin murmured appreciatively at Eduardo’s mewls, but put a hand on Mark’s shoulder all the same, the touch making Mark slow down without bothering to look up.

 Mark ran his palms up Eduardo’s body, pushing his hands up above his head, and pinning them against the cushions.  He stared at Eduardo like that for a while, holding him perfectly still as he fucked into him with firm strokes. He pushed his wrists higher, stretching him further, forcing him flat against the sheets despite the arch of his back.  Eduardo finally whimpered, intimidated by his immobilisation, and came all over his belly.

 Dustin made a noise of approval, wriggling close enough to lick the come delicately off of Eduardo’s skin until Mark became impatient and pushed Dustin aside to get a better angle.

 He pulled out, still hard and dribbling precome everywhere. Eduardo gasped as Mark wrenched free, but didn’t have long to rest before Mark was forcing his length back in, sliding in and out with some irregular rhythm particular to his own desires.

 Eduardo instinctively tried to wriggle away away the first few thrusts, still tender from coming, but Mark was insistent, pinning him down and penetrating him with long slow stroke after stroke.  He let the head pop out each time, clearly relishing the way Eduardo writhed and panted at each fresh invasion.

 Mark groaned through his climax, spreading Eduardo’s legs wider and sliding in deep. Eduardo whimpered at the rough push, clutching the sheets beneath him.  He felt obscenely full. Mark was still grinding hard inside of him, cock pulsing with each spurt of come.  

 Eduardo only realised that he was still moaning quietly when Mark pulled out of him carefully, and rolled onto his back briefly to catch his breath. Eduardo could feel the hot wet trickle of the seed stinging as it seeped out of his hole.

 Dustin reappeared, wiping Mark down as he had the day before. He swept the second cloth over Eduardo’s chest and belly before Mark put out a hand.

 “Leave him.” Mark said. “I like him better with my seed between his thighs.”

 Dustin lifted his eyebrows, not comprehending the command beyond the hand gesture.


	7. Chapter 7

As Chris had predicted that first day, Eduardo was rather sore on waking. He was also incapable of moving at all, as Dustin was clinging to him in his repose like a warm blooded limpet. Extricating himself from Dustin's grip proved jarring. He hadn't imagined that the kings favor would be accompanied by quite so many aches. His posterior ached the most, but the twinge as he turned over made him blush at the memory of how much he'd enjoyed its use more than anything else.

Dustin batted at his hip sleepily. He yelped at the pressure on the bruised area and rolled further out of reach. Eduardo really liked Dustin, but he was unused to this little personal space.

In Saverin, no one was permitted to touch him, barring his family, and it would have been unseemly for them to do so unwarranted. Here, it seemed possible that a great number of people were permitted to enjoy his flesh. It was a worry. 

Eduardo felt the bedding stir beside him, waking him out of his semi-doze abruptly. He lifted his head to find that Mark was studying him closely, frowning as if Eduardo were a puzzle, or the next move of a game of chess. He lay as still as possible, faintly certain that the king seemed to appreciate that. Remembering why he knew this elicited a flush that he couldn't suppress.  

He trembled as fingers traced down his forearms to his wrists and then over his waist and hips. It was an unexpectedly gentle touch, though it still ached. The bruises around his hips and waist would be florid by the evening, he knew without looking. 

"These bruises will be fixed today," Mark muttered, lifting his hands from Eduardo's skin. "The healers can’t heal the ones inside you any faster than nature allows. Turn over."

 Eduardo rolled onto his stomach with difficulty and tried not to squirm as Mark spread him for inspection.  He felt the pressure of a thumb pressing at his hole gently, and reflexively tensed against the intrusion. 

 The pressure stopped and Mark rubbed at one of his cheeks instead. "You're so tight," he said, his normally cool tone laced with smugness. 

 Eduardo wasn’t sure whether to respond, so he kept quiet and let Mark roll him back over when he was done. Mark laid back down beside him and closed his eyes once more, apparently content.

Eduardo laid still, mindless of the sheet only half covering him, too lost in ponderings of what could possibly happen next. Having apparently pleased Mark, would he be moved again to new living quarters with other victims of circumstance like himself? Chris and Mark’s mentions of a harem seemed to indicate that it would be so, and Mark would surely be able to fulfil his prior threats of insatiability over such a short distance.

 Dustin stirred again after a time, yawning and pushing his limbs into Eduardo’s space before he sat up. He gave Eduardo a sleepy smile, and began to clamber carefully out of the bed. He beckoned to Eduardo, pushing the covers out of the way before him.

 He followed slowly, uncertain of how far to trust his bodily movements. He discovered it wasn’t so bad, the twinges of pain really no more than a deep muscle ache and external bruising whenever he brushed against anything solid. He hobbled a little when he reached the floor, but straightened up once he learnt exactly where it was he was hurting, and how to avoid aggravating the spot.

 Dustin led him into the antechamber next to where Mark had fetched him the robe, and Eduardo remembered vaguely that he had been here before with Dustin, to relieve himself in between his lapses of exhaustion. He was pleased to see that there were bowls of water for washing here, some still warm from an earlier servant’s tending. He took the cloth Dustin proffered, and cleaned himself thoroughly. There was oil here too, and Eduardo wondered, before he flushed at his own presumptuous forethought.

 

\--- 

 

Eduardo was nervous.

 Mark's court was a great deal grander than that of the Saverin’s high house, and whilst Eduardo’s mae had frequently sat with his father for court to grant noble lady’s requests and smile upon the poor children of peasants, the Saverins had certainly not kept a harem in generations, preferring to follow exacting lines of lineage. No dalliance, mistress, or even betrothed would be tolerated at public court, let alone displayed.

 Being seated on the podium at the king’s feet was far from physically uncomfortable - there were more furs and cushions than the king’s chambers could ever hold.  What was unnerving was the sheer number of people witness to Eduardo crouching at the king’s feet.

 What made everything worse was that Mark unsurprisingly harboured a distaste for a number of the more public duties of a royal - and as far as Eduardo could tell, he hated public court most of all.

 Chris had explained to Eduardo that they were mandatory to keep up favor and an illusion of the king’s personal connection with the people. Eduardo understood that well enough - His father had held them frequently, occasionally magnanimously solving petty village squabbles, but more frequently using the time to placate lesser nobles and grant favors to the same.  

Thought he did not understand any of the people who stood before the podium, Eduardo could recognize the same disagreements and brown nosing. Mark was clearly bored by every one of them and after the first few hours of greetings he began to snap at the nobles who came to kneel before him sharply enough that even they looked humbled and scurried out apologizing profusely.

 This was all fairly pedestrian and Eduardo quickly learnt that it was acceptable that he rest his head against the throne for the duration, dozing through a number of cases. He was not even obliged to accept or carry gifts from the public as he had assumed he might be tasked, having only the memory of Dustin accepting his basket and himself on the day Mark had received him to serve as blueprint for the occupation.

 After several dreary mornings engaged in little more than trying to catch on to more Latin (the droning intonations of most of the elderly speakers not at all helpful), snacking on tidbits that Chris seemed to bring for him out of pure pity, and the surreptitious but endless search for the warmest and comfiest furs on the podium, Eduardo was almost at his wits end, certain he was ignorant of some vital serving duty.

“Chris,” he pleaded quietly when he went over to him to collect a tray of food for Mark’s lunchtime meal, “Please tell me what I’m supposed to be doing.”

Chris snorted. “You’re doing a good job.” He straightened up the jug of wine that Eduardo’s impatient jig was threatening to tip into the bread.

“I’m doing nothing.” Eduardo said emphatically. “What should I do?”

Chris quirked his lips. He glanced over at Mark, who was sitting straight-backed in the throne, his head just about rolled back to the arching ceiling in boredom. He was listening to the noble kneeled before him, but you wouldn’t know it if you couldn’t see that Mark was glaring at him down his nose.

“Three things.” Chris said finally. “Firstly, look beautiful, and a little bit wounded.” He tapped his own shoulder and took the weight of the tray back as Eduardo pulled the robe Mark had given him today open just enough to display a little collarbone and shoulder. He took the tray back, a little self conscious about the dishevelled robe.

 “You’re on display,” Chris said, nodding to the assembly behind them. “The emperor is the barometer of the empire. If he is eating well, then so are they. You are the meat.”

 Eduardo swallowed involuntarily.

 “Many of them don’t know who you are, don’t know your name or your homeland - but they have all heard that you are a prince, and a gift. You are the proof that Mark is a conqueror, and is highly respected in lands further than this rabble can imagine.” Chris looked at him closely. “You understand?”

 Eduardo nodded.

 “Secondly, we are expecting visitors. They are extremely important, and Mark hates them. That’s why you’re here everyday, instead of occasionally.”

 Eduardo nodded at that too, relieved.

 Christ smiled briefly at his expression, but pressed the tray against him, nudging him back towards the throne. “The last duty is something you are already very adept at.”

 Eduardo frowned. “What is that?”

 “Entertainment,” Chris said. “This last week is the longest he’s ever been known to put up with public duties. So get back over there and keep doing exactly what you’ve been doing.”

 Eduardo was knocked back a little at that.

 He shot a glance over his shoulder at the throne to find that Mark’s eye was straying over his exposed shoulder. He hissed a low thank you to Chris and took the food over immediately.

The third reason he had to attend at all did eventually become clear to Eduardo.

 The downside was that it only coincided with the days that Mark became particularly bored or aggravated. He pushed his hands into Eduardo's hair and pulled firmly enough that Eduardo whimpered and followed his hands into Marcus's lap, where he had to rest with his cheek on Marcus’s thigh for the duration of the court.

 It was warmer there, and sometimes Mark would absently stroke at his jaw or over his earlobe. After the first time, Eduardo found he could drift into a doze if he settled just right, and then wake up with his nose firmly buried in Mark’s robes, breathing in his musky aroused scent.

It was endearing in an awful, mortifying way, that though Mark granted his peasants their requests and counsel with a minimum of fuss, once confronted by a noble with an axe to grind, the more restless and outrageously rude he would get.

On a particularly trying day, Mark actually dragged Eduardo between his knees and pulled his plain tunic up and to the side.

"Suck," he told Eduardo in portugus , eyes still on the nobleman wheedling before him. 

"I beg your pardon?" the noble asked.

 The king waved him on, shifting in his seat so he could better fill Eduardo's mouth. 

 Eduardo wasn't very good at sucking cock yet, despite Dustin's best efforts to mentor him by example and gesticulation. With so little experience, Eduardo was messy, and he tended to choke easily. Mark was not gentle, but he seemed to like the way Eduardo gracelessly mouthed at him.  

 Mark buried his hands in his thick hair, cupping Eduardo's skull in big hands. Eduardo was being good, sucking the swollen head and occasionally lapping at the shaft.

 He was painfully aware of their audience, but Mark was making it extremely difficult not to make a sound. He kept thrusting deep and pulling out rapidly, and the wet sounds of Eduardo’s mouth being taken and his quick sobbing breaths seemed to echo in the cavernous hall.

 Distantly, Eduardo heard the longwinded nobleman finally fall quiet.

 Mark let him swallow the first spurts, then pulled him off gently, rubbing the rest over Eduardo's parted lips and his cheeks. Eduardo sighed softly, pressing into the warm wet flesh.

 “No.” Mark told the nobleman in Latin.

 The man squawked indignantly.

 Eduardo leaned in again and started slowly licking him clean.

 He glanced upwards to find that Mark was watching him with his piercing gaze.

 “Good.” Mark told him in quiet português.

 The offended nobleman spoke again, and Mark sighed and gestured for his guards.

 Chris appeared at Mark's shoulder with a cloth, politely avoiding looking at Eduardo's face. Mark took it and grudgingly ran it over Eduardo's soiled skin. He dropped it to the side of the throne, and pulled his tunic back into place. Eduardo sunk against his thighs, pressing his face into the warm linen. 

Eduardo dozed long enough into the afternoon for Chris to deign it time to bring around another round of food but he only properly woke up when he heard a commotion from the end of the chamber, and Mark paused in the middle of his current verbal flagellation.

 The noise grew closer, murmurs and complaints mixed in with the rhythmic stamp of large feet on polished marble.

 Eduardo sat up, and and turned, resting a hand on the top of Mark's sandaled foot for balance. 

He soon wished he hadn't shown his face at all when he realised that the two identical faces of the richly cloaked leaders were familiar to him. They recognised him immediately as well, and smiled wide in greeting, their teeth like those of handsome sharks.

 “Eduardo,”  Cameron greeted him politely, planting his feet a massive shoulder width apart, hands folded respectfully in front of his tunic. His brother Tyler brought up the rear of their entourage, pushing through errant peasants and lesser nobles still awaiting their audience.

 “Little Edu,” he said in português, a smirk idling in the corner of his mouth. He stepped forward, and reached out with the clear intention of patting Eduardo’s cheek.

 Mark blocked the touch with an abrupt movement that nearly pushed Eduardo onto his face. He took the chance to sidle a respectable distance from the reception area.

 “Don’t touch.” Mark said, tone icy.

 Eduardo yanked his robes into order, smoothing the fastenings and dragging the cloth over his thighs and knees. He did his best to flatten his hair and tried to wipe his face discreetly. He was never certain whether Mark cleaned him up adequately, especially when he knew perfectly well that Mark favoured seeing him coated with clear signs of recent pleasure.

He faced their visitors again, nervous when he saw that Cameron was watching him, face still set in his ever present benign expression.  Tyler was grimacing at Mark now, forearm held away from his body as if he was disgusted by Mark’s touch.

Their dispute had already devolved into Latin, and Mark was spitting mad, his eyes slitted and his hands white knuckled around the arms of the throne.  Eduardo know that his role at this point would ordinarily be to sidle silently into his lap and let Mark regain his calm through distraction, but Tyler was too close.  Eduardo didn’t want to step forward. Eduardo wanted to be somewhere else entirely. Anywhere else, in fact.

“Tyler,” Cameron said finally. “We’re being awfully rude to our childhood friend, don’t you think?” He met his brother’s gaze and then cocked his head towards Eduardo.  

“At the very least, you could speak the language the whole group has the capacity to understand.”

Tyler bit his tongue, and stepped back from Mark.  “Zuckerberg,” he said, sullenly.

Mark frowned.

“The correct form of address is Emperor, actually.” Chris stepped onto the dais from behind Eduardo.

Tyler snorted and Cameron slapped him on the shoulder pointedly. “Of course, it slipped his mind,” he said peacefully.

Chris nodded and turned to speak to a number of harried looking court administrators. They turned and began ruthlessly clearing the chamber of nobles and peasants alike, despite the numerous loud complaints from those who dearly wished to see the show play out.

“It is a pleasure to meet you again, Lesser Prince Eduardo.” Cameron addressed him respectfully. “We did wonder what had become of you when Saverin fell. I trust they treat you well?”

Mark turned his head abruptly towards Eduardo. His gaze was almost searing.

“Very well,” Eduardo replied, stumbling over the words. “Are you still Crown Prince Cameron? I am not familiar with any title changes of late.”

“King,” Cameron smiled. “Brother Kings Cameron and Tyler. Our father passed in the Spring.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Eduardo said, formally. He meant it – he remembered their father as a huge but kindly presence frequently entertained in the Saverin feasting halls.

“It wasn’t a bad death,” Tyler said. “He went as he wished. He left us the dagger afterwards.”  He laughed, “the will said: just in case we get sick of sharing the throne.”

Cameron rolled his eyes. “My brother shares our father’s ill taste in humour.”

Eduardo smiled tremulously, and he caught Mark stiffening in his seat.  He closed his mouth immediately, and seated himself in the furs beside the throne as usual.

Cameron’s eyes went to Mark and he smiled at him. “Were you not aware that Winklevoss and Saverin royalty was interlinked?”


	8. Chapter 8

“It’s hardly my concern,” Mark snapped.

“I’m sure Eduardo didn’t know, but had you not invaded poor Saverin, little Edu would have been given to us to share,” Tyler said with the delight of a cat that has a mouse cornered.

“As an Ambassador,” Cameron added smoothly.

“Old King Carlos is terribly conservative, so that’s what they liked to call the consorts they traded to other courts,” Tyler went on. “Ridiculous, but it worked just as well.”

“So I suppose it is your concern,” Cameron said sympathetically.

“It’s not good form to steal another king’s betrothed,” Tyler said.

“Two kings,” Cameron added.

Tyler nodded in agreement. “We’d forgive you, of course, if you gave him back.”

Mark stood up, and Chris appeared immediately at his side.

“The discussion chambers are ready whenever your highnesses are,” Chris interjected smoothly.

“Thank you, Chris,” Mark said. Eduardo saw Chris’s surprise in his blink, although it was well hidden. “Ensure that Eduardo is escorted back to my chambers.”

Cameron took in the directive and looked back at Eduardo measuringly. “Would it be too much to request Eduardo’s presence in our discussions?”

Eduardo saw Chris minutely shake his head at Mark.

“He will serve us.” Mark said, ignoring him.

Eduardo got up and brushed himself off.  Cameron offered his hand to lower him from the dais, but Eduardo refused it as politely as he could manage, stepping down carefully onto the marble in his slippery shoes. Mark followed and grasped Eduardo’s wrist, gripping painfully at a fading bruise.

Mark had been as careful as Amy had promised, and had refrained from taking him again for going on a fortnight now. He was still just as fascinated with looking at him, and Eduardo was not permitted to wear clothes to sleep. Sometimes he woke up to find Mark running his fingers over the dull bruises on his wrists and hips.  

Most of all, it was confusing and frustrating to crave something he had been so afraid of only recently. It had gotten to the point where he would get almost wanton when Mark caressed his face or let him lap gracelessly at his cock.

All the same, Eduardo was hopeful that Mark would not make him - do anything - in front of the Winklevoss twins.

Chris had definitely unleashed his best on the discussion chambers. They were opulent in a fashion that impressed Eduardo almost to the point of disgust. This was a display of obscene wealth clearly geared toward belittling smaller empires. Even Eduardo, still sore and bitter from his losses, had accepted that Saverin was the equivalent of nothing but a provincial village in the shadow of Mark’s more ordinary displays of Roman wealth.

Mark settled into a soft throne like seat draped in a golden brown fur. It dripped gold and jewels at it’s edges, tinkling against the floor as he shifted and beckoned.

Eduardo obediently joined him in the seat, wriggling until he was tucked between the soft pelt and the warmth of Mark’s shoulder, one leg folded gently over Mark’s thigh.

Chris followed the Winklevoss kings into the chamber and closed the tall doors. Cameron took an upright stretched leather seat to Eduardo’s left, and Tyler begrudgingly took the identical chair opposite the king.  Chris took up the final seat, a cushioned stool lower than all the other seats, but directly to the right of the Emperor.  He pulled the low table between them all closer to Eduardo for the benefit of him being able to better reach the plates and glass decanter he would be serving from Mark’s lap apparently.

“You will surrender your lands, your peasants, your crops, and your lives,” Mark started abruptly.

Tyler looked like he was about to flip the table.

“A joke,” Chris said brusquely, glaring pointedly at Mark. He pulled his ever present paperwork out from under the glassware on the table. 

Mark shrugged, tipping his head back. He squeezed the arm that ran behind Eduardo’s back around him.  Eduardo glanced at him fleetingly, and then back at their small assembly. 

Cameron caught his eye. “Pehaps some drinks?” he suggested. 

Eduardo leaned slightly out of Mark’s grip and carefully poured out the appropriate finger widths of liquor.  He served Mark first, then the twins simultaneously. Chris then took the decanter from him gently and poured his own goblet, which he then set aside and did not look at again.  For a moment Eduardo was sure Cameron was about to offer his already sipped goblet to him, but Mark beat him to it, pulling Eduardo back into the crook of his arm with one hand, the other one guiding the goblet to his lips for the lightest sip.

It was very sour, very strong, very expensive.  Eduardo had to swallow hard not to cough at the sting in his throat. 

Mark downed the rest, and coughed loudly as he set down the goblet. 

“Seeing as you’re so eager to talk about business,” Tyler said, finishing his drink off and banging it down on the table, “What do you propose to do for us?”

“Ty-,“ Cameron said warningly.

“I’ll let you live,” Mark answered abruptly. “Perhaps you can keep a small estate. Oversee infrastructure. Collect taxes. You’ll have help and guidance, of course.”

Tyler’s lip curled. “You invite us here to talk peace, and all you offer is threats?”

Mark shrugged.  “You make peace now, or I’ll take it all later.”

Cameron sat up straighter. “Let us counter offer at least.”

Mark tilted his chin, indicating that he was listening. 

“We agree to live in mutual peace and harmony, with our borders ending at the old Saverin borders. We watch the borders for interlopers and unrest and send word to you should this occur.”

Chris took down his words in a painstaking scrawl.

“I already have Saverin.” Mark said sarcastically, “in case you hadn’t already noticed, they’ve already made their treaties and paid their debts.”

Cameron’s eyes fell on Eduardo again. “I assure you, your highness, nobody could miss that fact.”

“Counter-offer,” Mark said. “You retain one quarter of your existing lands. Those furthest to the north are yours without outsider intervention. The remainder fall under the care of Rome. We fund and engineer your infrastructure. Your people build it, and are fairly compensated, of course.”

Chris nodded as he wrote. 

Cameron glanced at Tyler, holding his gaze for a moment. 

He put his goblet down, drained. Eduardo bent to the table again and refilled the goblets, ignoring Chris’s abandoned one.

“Giving up three quarters of the Winklevoss empire is a preposterous request,” Cameron said finally. 

“It’s not technically an empire.” Mark said, taking his goblet from Eduardo.

“We might consider gifting you the northern quarter if you give us what remains of eastern Saverin  – and the road runs along the border.” Tyler suggested, face sour.

Chris handed Mark a scrap of parchment, which he read , nodded at, and returned.

“We can’t expose travelling traders to that kind of instability.“ Mark countered. “Robbery is rife on roads close to borders.”

“I have a feeling this is going to be a very long negotiation.” Cameron muttered.

“Two thirds,” Mark offered, “and your armed forces all defect to Rome.” 

“No!” Tyler said, exasperated.

“Shut up, Tyler,” Cameron told him. He turned to Mark. “Let me be honest.  Are you at all open to trading territory for parts of Saverin?”

Chris looked up from his quill. “Why?”

Cameron looked from him back to Mark, taken aback. Mark shrugged and sat back, giving them permission to directly discuss without his role as figurehead.

“Well-” Cameron carried on, “Their crops have always done well. We have a large population.  We have a personal connection with the people and the former rulers.”

“Saverin has already been successfully absorbed into the Empire,” Chris said. “Displacing it so soon could be catastrophic to the people and the crop productivity.”

“Successful?” Tyler snorted.  “Is that what you call civil unrest and endless attempts at coup?”

“There is some unrest, your highness, but it is all-“

“It would be a logical choice - King Carlos would world more effectively with us than inflexible Roman outposts.” Cameron coaxed.

“I cannot, and I will not allow Carlos Saverin any more than what he has already bought,” Mark interrupted, his free hand gripping at Eduardo’s robe. “If Carlos Saverin is doing anything that could be deemed ‘flexible’ then he is breaching his treaty terms and he and his people will be dealt with accordingly.”

Eduardo thought of his mae fleetingly before crushing the thought with a heavy heart. 

None of them cast an eye upon him for a moment, a kindness.

“Perhaps we can negotiate the proportions of the lands later,” Cameron offered eventually.

Tyler bristled with dissatisfaction.

“You’re going to have to sweeten this deal.” he said bluntly. “Name us new Kings of Saverin, and give us the last prince. The people will settle better if they know we took their crown prince back from his Roman captor.”

Eduardo put the decanter down gently and shrunk back from the table. 

Mark obligingly tugged him back into the crook of his arm.

“Imagine my pain at having to reject that pathetic offer,” he said scathingly. 

“Well, it’s the best you’re going to get,” Tyler hissed.

Chris stood up. “Uh - an exceptionally fruitful start to negotiations, your highnesses. Shall we break for feasting, and return to the discussion later over drinks and games?”

 

 

 

“That wasn’t the way I wanted you to hear about your brothers,” Chris sighed.

Eduardo kicked his slippers off the edge of the bed. “I already knew.”

“Oh?”

“Not officially, but they didn’t return when Rome invaded. And Pai –my father must have known. He would never have surrendered if he’d thought they were still alive.”

Chris sighed. “Well, that’s something.”

“I didn’t know I was crown prince though,” Eduardo smiled wryly.

“You’re not,” Chris said absently as he unrolled the parchment he’d filled during the meeting, “There is no Saverin, so there is no crown prince-” He looked up suddenly, realising what he was saying. “That’s not to say – fuck, I’m sorry.” He shoved the parchment roll away from him. “Apparently being unspeakably rude is catching.”

Eduardo laughed. “Don’t worry, Mark is by far the best at that,” he said.

“Yes,” Chris said, fetching the parchment back again.

Eduardo undid the top clasps on his robe, settling into the blankets. “Do we have to attend the feast?”

Chris nodded. “We asked a number of courtesans and harem subjects to attend in the hope that it distracts the Winklevii from their inconvenient fixation on you.”

“Winklevii?” Eduardo asked.

Chris pressed a hand to his temple. “Mark's name for the Kings Winklevoss. When he dreamed it up he thought it was the height of wit. I try to curb him from actually using it to their faces, but I have to admit that it has a ring to it.”

“Should I wear the same clothes?” Eduardo said, pulling at his robes. 

“Mm, no.” Chris said, eyeing the rumpled collar and stains Mark had left on the robes. “Dustin will help you with something more appropriate. You should rest until he gets back, it's not going to be a peaceful night.”

Eduardo sighed and flopped backwards on the bed, closing his eyes. His head was a little light from the sips he'd had from Mark's goblet. The distilled liquor was a far cry from the watered wine he'd been drinking since childhood – he wondered how Mark could negotiate into the night without it knocking him out. He supposed one would get used to it, as he had gotten used to sleeping in furs and the cool breezes that swept through the colonaddes of the palace and chilled the backs of his knees. He remembered when he was a child and even the clearest of watered wine at lunch could make him sleepy and stupid for afternoon lessons with his older brothers. 

He was almost as thin now as he had been then, lanky and stretched like a freshly sinew bow string. He made a note to partake in enough heavy meat and sweets tonight that he wouldn't risk nodding off too soon and embarrassing his hosts in front of the visitors.

Almost asleep but for the frantic scratching of Chris's quill, Eduardo almost thought it was a dream when Mark padded in and approached the bed. He exchanged a handful of quiet words with Chris and stopped directly in front of Eduardo's half-lidded eyes.

“A letter.” Mark said shortly. He dug in his robes for a moment and pulled out a creased sheet of parchment, folded over several times, wax seal already broken. He set it on the bed. 

Eduardo blinked, confused. “From who?” he said, sitting up slowly. He turned the parchment over and examined it.

Mark shrugged. He turned and left the chambers, sandals padding out the way he'd come.

Eduardo looked over at Chris in bewilderment. His only correspondents in the past had been the occasional noble heirs he'd spoken to as a child, and even then, his letters had always been approved of by Saverin intelligence councils. None of these friends would know where he was now, much less would want to or be permitted to admit that they ever knew him. Nobles weren't friends with whores.

He unfolded the letter and all of his curious excitement dissapated. The hand was the tall spidery dash of his father, and the note was no longer than half a hand of text, if that.

“Eduardo,” it began, without honorifics or mention of his house.

“In the hopes that you have managed to obey the simplest of instructions, we write to enquire as to whether you are doing your best to improve the lot of your family and people in captive Saverin.”

Eduardo's breath caught in his throat, and he fumbled the letter before he could still his hands.

“Sylvester reported that his presentation of our bounty was successful, and Despot Marcus has returned our treaties signed, although not overly generous. Presumably you did not make as positive an impression as Sy indicated. Do your best to amend this failing.

“Our kin from Winklevoss have expressed their sympathies, and hearing of your position in Roman court, have thoughtfully offered to ensure this reminder reaches your hand. You must show Kings Winklevoss your absolute gratitude for this favour, of course. Do not bother to reply to this note – we are too busy for superfluous communications and your mother has no time for anything but her health. 

“King Carlos Saverin.”

Eduardo crumpled the parchment in his fists, ripping it in half, then into long shreds, crumbling the wax seal into chips. 

“Eduardo?” Chris ventured, face artfully blank of the pity Eduardo knew he must be feeling for him.

Eduardo shook his head, getting up and dropping his lapful of debris into the low fire. 

“Who was the letter from?” Chris asked quietly.

“You know.” Eduardo said. 

“Your father?” Chris said.

Eduardo nodded.

Chris sighed. “We're a long way from Saverin,” he said.

Eduardo nodded in agreement.

“What I'm saying is that...he can't hurt you from Saverin.” Chris said, awkwardly. 

Eduardo smiled wryly. “I wish you were always right, Chris.”

Chris leaned forward over his paperwork. He rolled his neck and sighed again, almost silently. He looked suddenly, just for a split second, much older than Eduardo would ever have assumed.

“We do our best.” He said, almost to himself.

Eduardo found himself smiling despite the weight that had amassed in his belly the moment he had unfolded the letter. “Yes,” he said haltingly in Latin, grinning when Chris smiled back and mock applauded him. 

 

 

 

The feast was held in one of the huge cold halls that Eduardo had explored with Dustin a week prior. The alcoves were marvellous for hiding in and leaping out of, but Eduardo had the hard luck of being seated between Dustin and Mark, directly opposite Cameron and Tyler. Chris was on Mark's right, and the Winklevosses were flanked by a contingent of beautiful men and women. 

They greeted Eduardo politely when Dustin and he approached and were seated. Eduardo returned their well wishes and greetings as he'd always been drilled. Mark looked up as he settled beside him, eyes going to his robes – the blue ones Mark had dressed him in weeks ago and still by far the most expensive cloth he has ever seen. Mark nodded once in approval and used his knife to shift some of the meat on his plate onto the clean one in front of Eduardo. 

Dustin served himself from the dishes arranged down the length of the table. He paused only to pour wine into the goblets in front of them, sipping his wine quickly before he went back to picking out the choicest meats for himself. Eduardo took the cue and turned to pour from the same jug for Mark, who pushed his goblet into reach without breaking his glare at the Winklevoss twins. Seeing as the atmosphere was terse enough without adding to it with small talk, Eduardo directed his eyes to his plate. 

The meat Mark had already given him had been joined by a crusty roll and a mess of fried and well sauced stew. Eduardo lifted his knife and sampled the meat first. It was gamey and rich, possibly venison. Most meats in Rome were hunted game, rather than poultry or fish as most was at home. He managed to get through a few mouthfuls of the food before he had to stop and sip at his wine, taste buds and stomach overwhelmed. 

“Is something wrong with the food?” Cameron said from across the table. He was also nursing his wine goblet, although his plate was well covered with half eaten meat. 

“Nothing,” Eduardo said honestly, “It is very good.”

“It's not like food back home, is it?” Cameron said sympathetically. “It's a pity they didn't think to prepare food to your tastes.”

“The food here is excellent.” Eduardo assured him. “I'm learning about a number of foods we don't have in – in Saverin.” He glanced at Mark, who was shovelled food into his mouth as if he hadn't heard anything. 

“No fish,” Tyler said mournfully. 

“No,” Cameron said, “That's what you need. Fresh fish. Something light that doesn't exhaust your stomach.”

Eduardo didn't say anything, although he did miss fish, a lot. There wasn't a lot of food here that made him want to eat more than a few mouthfuls yet. 

He pushed the plate forward a little, letting the servant at his shoulder take it away and replace it with a clean one. 

“Marcus,” Tyler said, planting his elbow on the table and chewing the crust of his bread with his mouth open. “Don't you see what you're doing to this delicate Saverin flower?”

He pointed at Eduardo's plate with the bread. “It's like you don't even want him.”

“I think you'll find that Eduardo is old enough to decide when he is hungry,” Mark said, barely pausing between bites.

“If you came to Winklevoss,” Tyler said.

“Fish.” Cameron said thickly, through his mouth full of meat.

“Fish, fruits, vegetables, newly vinted wines and juices,” Tyler recited. “Pasta, soups, shellfish, legumes, flatbread, sweet teas.” He grinned at Eduardo. “It's enough to make you hungry, isn't it?”

Dustin shifted, looking from Eduardo to the Winklevosses and back again. He put his hand under the table and patted Eduardo's knee gently in silent support. Eduardo could tell he was just about bursting from holding his tongue.

“You'd plump up in no time,” Tyler said. “We prefer warm, soft bedmates, unlike these coldblooded northerners.”

Mark slammed his knife down. “Perhaps Saverin wouldn't have sent him to me famine starved if Winklevoss hadn't decided to indulge in blockading every Eastern trader carrying Roman food supplies for Saverin?”

Tyler sat back, amused. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“We don't interfere with honest traders,” Cameron scoffed, mopping his plate with a scrap of bread.

“Dishonest traders is another story,” Tyler finished for him.

Eduardo was certain he could hear Chris rolling his eyes from Mark's other side.

“We'll discuss it after dinner,” Mark said tightly.


	9. Chapter 9

Dustin took Eduardo back to Mark's chambers after dinner, and helped him get out of his robes, frowning the whole time.

He frowned at Eduardo's ribs as he hung the robe on the hook with Mark's other clothes.

He knelt in the bathing room with the warm dishes of water and helped Eduardo dry his face, frowning at his arms and bony feet.

He steadied the jug of oil as Eduardo poured out enough for beside the bed, and frowned at him when he shyly joined him on the bed, newly clean and prepared for Mark.

Eduardo got into the bed gladly, wine and bodily aches catching him up as soon as his head hit the soft surface. Dustin curled against his back, and Eduardo could swear he could still feel the frown on his face against his shoulder.

He rolled over, exasperated. “What?”

Dustin pursed his lips and rubbed his fingers over Eduardo's ribs. He shook his head and mimed eating with a questioning expression.

Eduardo shrugged. It was too much to answer, let alone mime. He patted Dustin on the face instead and closed his eyes when Dustin gave up and shuffled closer to keep him warm. He was glad to have them, Dustin and Chris.

It was almost worth everything else.

 

Mark came back earlier rather than later, and he slid into the bed behind Eduardo with enough blustering annoyance in his movements to wake him out of a dead sleep. He threw an arm over the covers that Eduardo has draped himself in but otherwise left him be.

The next morning was another story entirely. Eduardo had barely stirred before he felt Mark’s hands smoothing over his belly and palming confidently over his cock. He blinked awake slowly, automatically pressing back against Mark’s warm skin. He could feel his cock, hot and leaking, already sliding between his legs, nudging wetly against his balls and over his hole.

Mark pulled back after a couple of gently dragging thrusts, replacing his cock with fingers newly slicked with oil.

Eduardo made a soft sound of surprise when Mark breached him, pulling his leg forward gently to help Mark get deeper. He was a little slick from preparing the night before, but Mark was pausing frequently to add more oil, waking him up with light presses that sank easily into him.

Eduardo let himself reach out to brace himself against the mattress, only then registering that Dustin had already risen and departed. It was almost a relief to find that they were alone this time, and Eduardo let out a low unmuffled sob as Mark turned him almost all the way onto his stomach, baring his stretched asshole to the cool morning air.

 "Relax,” Mark said, voice rough with sleep. “You remember my big dick, don't you?”

Eduardo moaned, his cock twitching involuntarily against his belly. “Yes, sire,” he whispered. He clenched his fists around the blankets in front of him and spread himself wider, pulling his thigh up almost to his chest.

Mark made a pleased murmur, hands going to Eduardo's thighs and hip to correct his positioning slightly. “How do you want it?” he said, voice low.

Eduardo trembled, hyper aware of the heat of Mark's cock brushing firmly over his hole.

“I-I...” he stuttered.

“Gentle and slow?” Mark suggested, quietly. “I can treat you like a virgin. I fucked you too hard your first time.”

Eduardo shuddered at his words, but shook his head minutely. He could feel the tension coiled in Mark's muscles.

“You want it rough?” Mark breathed against his ear.

Eduardo felt Mark's cock pulse, it was pressed so tightly against his hole. He strained backwards instinctively, and nodded, embarrassed.

“You want it rough,” Mark repeated, sounding smug this time. “Of course you do, little prince.”

 He shifted his weight onto Eduardo then, rolling his hips and pressing the head of his cock inside of Eduardo. “So tight,” he mutters, reaching for Eduardo's spread leg, and pushing it a little higher. “Let me get deeper, Wardo.”

Eduardo tensed in surprise at the nickname, earning himself a warning squeeze to his thigh. Mark pulled away for a moment, and then pressed close again, using the momentum to thrust deep, cock stretching him open for a long, indescribable moment.

 Mark groaned, and pulled out again.

 Eduardo could feel everything about his penetration this time. He could recognise the head breaching him, and the thick shaft following it. When Mark paused inside him he felt the grind of Mark trying to get deeper, and the strange, electric feeling of Mark rubbing against something inside him, not quite in the right place.

 The outward pull was terrifying and arousing, if only because Mark felt even bigger coming out, and then immediately demanded to re-penetrate slamming home and this time hitting him just right, the perfect place that made Eduardo somehow manage to go limp and tense up at the same time.

 Eduardo was mortified to realise that the loud wanton groans he could hear echoing through the chamber were his own.

 He tried to temper them, pressing his face down into the bedding, breathing hard inside the cave his curled body had formed on top of the sheets. Mark pulled him back by the scruff of his neck though, examining his flushed face as he stretched him open again and again.

 “You like that, don't you?” Mark said. He pulled out again and sunk back in a couple of times in a row.

 Eduardo strained his voice trying to agree by nature of anything less than a whine.

 “I'm not sure you're going to be able to walk after this,” Mark said in between thrusts. He sounded approving.

 Eduardo sobbed an agreement, lifting his hips back and clinging to the sheets as Mark pounded him harder. “More, please, sire.”

 

Eduardo could walk afterwards, as it turned out, although not without a slight limp. “It's nothing,” he said when he met Chris outside the negotiation chamber after a long and careful visit to the baths. The attendants had been more than kind, bringing him mild soap and soothing balm and a little food. Mark had chosen a soft robe for him, thankfully, and Eduardo was feeling much less delicate by the time he arrived for his accompaniment and serving duties.

 “If you say so,” Chris said, eyeing his clipped gait. “You know, I understand what Mark is trying to say here, but really, this is nothing more than throwing a cat amongst the pigeons.”

 “You mean a pigeon amongst the cats,” Eduardo quipped, smiling wryly.

 Chris laughed. “No, I stand by my metaphor, Eduardo. You make a fine kitten.”

 Eduardo shrugged and entered before him, fixing his eyes on Mark, who was still tousle-headed from bed. He ignored the Winklevosses, watching instead the way that Mark's eyes darkened when he limped a little more than his sore muscles strictly demanded.

  

Mark had him again the next morning, this time reluctant to even let Eduardo clean himself up before they had to attend negotiations with the Winklevosses. “I want them to see my seed sliding down your thighs,” he told Eduardo, tracing through the mess between his legs with his fingertips.

Eduardo whimpered, more aroused than horrified. It was a close call, but he managed to plead well enough that Mark gave in and cleaned him off carefully with the warm wet cloth that Dustin had left them.

They were still late because Mark took his time with selecting a new tunic for him; one that left his legs bare from the mid thigh, and he wouldn't allow him any underclothes. “I might want to fuck you during the meeting,” Mark shrugged, piercing eyes betraying darker intentions than his gesture implied.

Mark never actually carried out his threat, but Eduardo was on tenterhooks for the entirety of the discussion. Mark kept shifting him on his lap, his semi swollen cock a constant firm reminder of his words. He kept pushing at Eduardo’s tunic, baring indecent expanses of his thighs.

The Winklevosses didn’t seem particularly perturbed, but they watched with hungry eyes, never missing an opportunity to take their refilled goblets directly from Eduardo’s hands. They all spoke almost entirely in Latin now, and Eduardo could barely catch anything beyond the agreement and rejections of proposals.

They ate the midday meal together in the chamber, eyes feasting as much on Eduardo as on the food he offered them in turn.

 “You were born and raised for this, weren’t you,” Cameron finally said to him in português, smiling as he accepted a second serving of game.

 Eduardo wasn’t sure how to answer, so he inclined his head instead. Mark snapped something in Latin, and Cameron didn’t speak to him again, only smiling at him, amused, for the remainder of the afternoon.

 

They finally broke for dinner and Chris told him he needn’t come to the feast or late negotiations. Eduardo was relieved, although the fabric of his tunic was damp with his own precome. He considered touching himself in the chambers, perhaps whilst he prepared himself for Mark again.

 Dustin was there when he returned though, and as much as Eduardo liked him, he felt uncomfortable at the thought of doing sexual acts with or near him without Mark’s presence.

 “Food?” he said to Dustin after relieving himself in the wash chamber and splashing his face clean.

 Dustin looked up from a half unrolled scroll. “Please,” he said, happily.

 Eduardo left, taking the long way to the kitchens through the nearly-prepared feasting chamber in the hopes of walking off his lingering lust.

 He was almost there, passing the last set of dark alcoves when he spotted a Winklevoss leaning leisurely within one. He walked on, pretending not to see him, only to have to leap back when the Winklevoss stepped into his path. It was Tyler, Eduardo realised when he looked closer.

 “Minor Prince Eduardo,” Tyler greeted him.

 Eduardo had no choice but to bow back as expected.

 “King Tyler,” he said. “I hope you fare well. Unfortunately, I cannot tarry.”

 Tyler raised his eyebrows in offended surprise. “What else do you have to do in this place but lying on your back that keeps you so busy?”

 Eduardo stepped back in shock. “I'm sorry, your highness, I-”

 Tyler's hand whipped out and fisted in his tunic, dragging him into the alcove.

 Eduardo went limp, uncertain how best to react.

 Tyler pulled him in closer, grip straining the rich linen of the tunic, then relaxing the hold, meaty hand travelling to his throat.

 “I should have asked your father for you years ago,” Tyler said suddenly, tracing his thumb along Eduardo’s jawline. “When we came to stay five summers ago, remember?” He made Eduardo nod, grip tightening again as he dragged his head down and back up.

 “We had it all planned out,” Tyler said. “You were sweet then, big eyes like a fawn. Cameron wanted to take you to your chambers, make you squeak and writhe in your own bedding. First him, then me.”

 Eduardo shivered internally, remembering their visit all too well. They’d been kinder than most of his brothers’ friends. They’d let him join in with their drinking games despite his brothers’ complaints.

 “Of course, Cameron had the bright idea of asking permission first, and our father said no. No, if you want a prince, wait until Saverin needs something. Then we could buy you. Keep you forever, like a war prize.”

 Tyler flashed his teeth, bitter. “Guess someone else got in first.”

 Eduardo wanted to vomit. He almost wished he could, just to get Tyler’s hands off of him.

­

“How does it feel,” Tyler asked him then, “to spread your legs for a commoner?”

 He let go. Eduardo took the opportunity and ducked under his arm, sliding out the side of the alcove into the open chamber. “He is the Emperor,” Eduardo reminded him shakily.

 Tyler narrowed his eyes. “Don’t let your Pai hear that you’re calling him that,” he hissed back.

 “My father is in Saverin,” Eduardo said, momentarily confused. He thought of how Chris had reminded him of that, growing more confident. “Don’t touch me again, Tyler.”

 Tyler sneered, but dropped his hand. “If you have anything else to say to your father, I will be dining with him on fresh Saverin delicacies this time next week.”

 Eduardo said nothing.

“Very well,” Tyler said, mockingly. “I’ll be sure to let him know how well you are doing underneath your new master.”

Eduardo nodded stiffly and backed away until he could turn and run through the corridors. The ever present guards outside Mark's chambers bowed him through immediately, thankfully turning a blind eye to his unmistakably shaken expression.

Dustin looked up, surprised. “Food?” he said, staring at Eduardo’s empty hands. “Why?”

Eduardo shrugged, unable to express himself in any words that Dustin would understand. He sat at the table at first and then got up and shifted to the bed, pulling back the furs and climbing in with his robes still entirely fastened. He was shaking slightly, though it was more anger than it was fear.

Dustin came over and knelt on top of the covers beside him. “Wardo?” he said. “Help you?”

Eduardo shook his head. “No,” he said in his shaky Latin. “Please, I want Chris.”

Dustin nodded and slid to the edge of the bed where he’d left his sandals. He hurried out. “I food,” he called back, in broken português.

Eduardo buried his face in the plump feather pillows and silently screamed in frustration. As much as he believed that life fundamentally wasn’t fair, this kind of trouble following him here from Saverin after so many years could only be called a curse.

Dustin burst back in, arms full of bread and cheese, Chris almost trodding on his heels. He dropped the food onto the table and fished a knife out of the folds of his tunic. “Wardo,” he announced proudly, gesturing both to the food and to Chris.

“Thanks,” Eduardo said in Latin.

Chris crossed his arms and peered through the bed hangings at Eduardo. “What happened?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” Eduardo said, taking in the ink stains that covered Chris’s palms and his mussed hair. “You were in a meeting.”

“With King Cameron and an increasingly belligerent Mark,” Chris agreed. “I don’t even want to imagine what Mark might be saying to him right now.”

“Tyler-” Eduardo said, tongue thickening as he realised what he would have to say next. “He cornered me, and-”

Chris put his hand up. “Stop,” he said. He put his hand to his temple. “He did what?”

“In an alcove near the kitchens,” Eduardo continued unhappily, “He called Mark a commoner and he said that he was going to meet with my – with Carlos Saverin next week.”

Chris sank into his usual chair. “This is too much information,” he said, blankly. He sucked in a deep breath and took one of the slices of bread which Dustin had already sliced and applied a thick slab of cheese. “Right,” he said, chewing and swallowing rapidly. “I have two questions and a statement. Actually, three questions,” he added after pausing to count.

He raised one finger. “Because I know that when I talk to Mark this will be the most important question: did he touch you?”

Eduardo nodded. He touched his chest and his throat, hesitant to follow the memory of the touch with his fingertips.

Chris swore. “Thank you. Are you positive he said he would be meeting with your father?”

Eduardo nodded. “He said they would be dining together.”

“I’d call that evidence of conspiracy,” Chris muttered. He looked into Eduardo's eyes then, his gaze softening. “You probably don’t know, because you grew up so far from Rome,” he said. “Mark was a commoner.”

Eduardo blinked.

“He took the throne several years ago,” Chris continued. “There are plenty of deniers, of course, but Mark is more popular than most monarchs of royal blood ever manage to get throughout entire lifetimes. He is indisputably our Emperor.”

Eduardo grasped at the blankets and furs around him. He hadn’t even known what Mark had looked like before he’d come here, let alone where he’d come from. The only information he’d ever been taught about Emperor Marcus had been that people called him Boy King, and that he was cruel and wanted to kill his parents and take his home from him.

In the time that he’d left his home though, he’d seen a lot more evidence in Mark’s favour. Gretchen had said that she admired him, and she had been a true, salted Saverin soldier. Rome was full of people who seemed to want to stay, if the public assemblies had taught him anything, and Mark himself had been unexpectedly kind. Kind with his words and his body alike.

“It’s not going to be a problem.” Eduardo said slowly.

Chris looked relieved. He got up, pocketing more bread and cheese as he rose. “Thank you for sending for me,” he said. “This information is extremely helpful.” He looked meaningfully at Eduardo. “I can promise you that the Winklevii will be gone from the city by the time you rise tomorrow.”

Eduardo dropped his chin, relieved. “Thank you, Chris.”


	10. Chapter 10

After conferring briefly with Chris at the door, Dustin gathered his scrolls and the food and clambered into the bed. He handed Eduardo slab after slab of bread and cheese, and diligently pretended to read his scroll, lips thinned and face even whiter than usual.  He only got up to answer a knock at the door once, greeting a girl in pretty robes warmly before firmly shaking his head and turning her away in favour of staying with Eduardo.  Eduardo guessed she had been sent to fetch him for the feast so that Mark would have at least one of his companions for company.

Dustin was steadfast, and his watchful eye so diligent that Eduardo couldn’t help but feel safe enough to push his robes off and curl into the blankets to sleep, exhausted by his fear.

Mark returned much later. Eduardo woke with a start when he kicked the dish basin near the door. Mark paused and looked toward the bed. Eduardo shut his eyes quickly, not daring to open them until he heard Mark's sandals slapping on the stone again.

Although definitely drunk, Mark picked his way through the chamber methodically, not disturbing any other furniture. He got to the bed presently, and sat on the edge closest to Eduardo. He bent to pull at his sandals, and awkwardly pulled his tunic and robe over his head. Then he pulled the furs and covers back and settled in next to Eduardo.

Eduardo pretended to be asleep, even turning a little to press against Dustin as if naturally tossing in his slumber.

“You're not asleep.” Mark said, a little too loud. He stumbled over each word, barely forming the syllables correctly.

Eduardo could smell the sweet wine fumes rolling off of him. He tensed up, wondering if Mark was cruel in his inebriation. He had spent enough time in the school room and then the banquet room with his brothers to recall any number of crude tales of drunken soldiers and serving maidens. Such behaviour was strictly forbidden in Saverin households, but the arm of the law could only reach so far.

Mark remained still on his back. Eduardo could feel his body heat permeating the blankets around them.

“I won't hurt you,” Mark said a moment later, at a more measured volume. “Look at me.”

Eduardo rolled over obediently, fingers clutching at the blankets. Mark turned his head to the side and looked at his face.

Mark lifted his arm, and Eduardo flinched back violently.

He curled in on himself, kicking Dustin in the gut in the process. Dustin sat bolt upright, squawking and staring around accusingly. Eduardo squeezed his eyes tightly shut and tucked his chin in harder. Now he would certainly be punished.

He heard Dustin complaining sleepily to Mark, and Mark answering tersely in Latin, his speech still slightly slurred. Eduardo tried to swallow his tears. He'd already embarrassed Chris and Dustin enough with his emotional outbursts.

A hand touched Eduardo's hair gently. “Stop crying,” Mark said now, stroking him. “Come here.”

Eduardo uncurled slowly, shamefully lifting his eyes to meet Mark's. He looked angry, in a distant way. He wiped at Eduardo's face with the blankets.

“I won't hit you like that.” he said, steel in his tone. “No one will hit you, no one will touch you like that while you are mine.”

Dustin petted him tentatively on the shoulder again, and Eduardo let him.

“I'll kill anyone who touches you without my leave,” Mark said. “Name the one who harmed you and I will have them butchered.” Mark's eyes were cruel and reptilian again, like they had been when he had first claimed Eduardo.

In the space of one cold moment Eduardo realised what Chris had meant about his power.

“You understand?” Mark said, gently rubbing his thumb over Eduardo's lips and cheek. Eduardo nodded. “You understand who you belong to now?”

Eduardo's breath caught in an ugly sobbing hiccup. He nodded again.

“You're no Saverin now,” Mark said, voice low and almost primal. He pulled Eduardo against his chest, laying them back down. Dustin pulled the blankets over them gently and curled up with his back to them without further complaint.

Mark was gone again in the morning, though Eduardo couldn’t remember being moved from his place on Mark’s chest. Dustin was still sleeping close though, his scroll from the previous day crumpled and unravelled right over the edge of the bed.

Eduardo sat up and pushed one of the bed hangings aside.

“Good morning,” Chris said pleasantly.

Eduardo rubbed his hand over his face. When would people stop inviting themselves in while he slept?

“Morning,” he greeted back, finally managing to open his eyes properly. They were sore from crying in the night. He probably looked awful. It was lucky that Mark had left early after all.

“Please excuse me,” he said to Chris sleepily, and headed into the washroom. The water was like a cool balm on his eyes, and he managed to coax his hair at least into a vaguely downwards direction in the large cloudy glass affixed to the wall. There was a tunic in a fine purple colour hung on the wall, and Eduardo pulled it on before realising that though it was clean, it smelt exactly like Mark. He left it on, after smoothing the folds out of it in front of the glass for a moment.

Chris was still at the table when he returned, and Eduardo joined him. The servants had brought cut fruits and bread and what looked and tasted like the white flesh of small birds. Eduardo reached for some of the juicier looking fruit segments, shaking his head at Chris’s silent offer of watered wine.

“Mark cast the Winklevii out last night,” Chris said, apropos of nothing. “In the middle of the feast, in front of a hundred nobles and courtiers.”

“Oh,” Eduardo said, lowering his head over his food. He reached for the bread and butter with a shaking hand.

“Then he proceeded to finish a barrel of wine on his own as he dictated to me increasingly slanderous letters.” Chris rolled his eyes at the memory.

“And then,” Chris went on, refilling his own wine goblet. “He woke the guard at the crack of dawn, looking as crazed as if he’d been awake all night, and ordered all two hundred of them to join him as they patrolled the boundaries of the city, allegedly to ensure that the borders were free of exiles.”

“Oh.” Eduardo said again, in a small voice. He took some of the tender white meat from the dish and wrapped it into the bread.

“Mmhm.” Chris agreed. He rested his elbow on the tabletop. “Congratulations,” he said after Eduardo finished chewing his food. “I don’t think even Mark managed to gain this much power so quickly.”

Eduardo choked. “Excuse me?”

Chris grinned. “Dustin tells me everything that Mark won’t,” he said. “Don’t go assuming that many other people in the world could request their monarch slaughter their enemies at a moment’s notice.”

Eduardo’s face burned with embarrassment. “He was just being kind,” he said, staring intently down at the table.

Chris scoffed. “Mark doesn’t know the meaning of kind. The best he can do is meritocracy, a decent sense of justice, and then all of that he ruins with a massive dose of self important obsession.”   Chris tapped at the table. “Lucky for you, you fall into that last category.”

Eduardo opened his mouth and closed it again. Chris wasn’t wrong. It sent a shiver down his spine. A warm one.

“I should-” he said, motioning at the washroom nervously.

Chris nodded, smiling. “A good idea.”

They stood at the same time.

“He will be back soon,” Chis said, gathering his ever present papers. “You’ve done well here, Eduardo. Just remember that you can always trust me to help you.”

Eduardo nodded emphatically. “Thank you, Chris.”

He prepared himself in the washroom, bracing himself against the wall, muffling his cries in the flesh of his own shoulder. It just felt right to stretch himself more than usual, to make sure that Mark would be able to get inside him as swiftly and deeply as possible.

Dustin was awake when he returned to the bed, lightheaded with half formed pleasure, panting under his breath involuntarily. Dustin blinked at him as he clumsily rolled into his place in the bed, but nodded when he saw the slick oil on his thighs.

They both lay there for what seemed like hours, Dustin dozing in fits and starts, Eduardo blinking softly through the haze of his own arousal.

Eduardo didn’t even realise that he’d fallen asleep too until he woke to his thighs being spread wide open.

“Mark,” Eduardo gasped, feeling Mark’s hot dick slide down his inner thigh. “Please,” he whimpered, feeling the fat head breech him, the shaft following it. Mark wasn’t slowing, even to let him adjust. He bit his lip and spread himself wider, letting Mark drag him down the furs until he was right under him.

Mark was tall from here, his toned torso towering over him even when he leaned over to wrap his hands over Eduardo’s shoulders. He pressed down, and Eduardo’s breath hitched. He shuddered as Mark’s dick slid into him, inch by inch. He couldn’t fight it when Mark had him like this, slicked up and so well positioned.

“You’re mine,” Mark said, bluntly. As if it were some certainty he was stating to the court.  

Eduardo stared up at him, panting for breath.

Mark’s hands tightened over his shoulders and he forced Eduardo down again, burying his dick deeper.

“What are you?” Mark asked, eyes narrowed this time. One of his hands left Eduardo’s shoulder this time and skated up the side of his neck. He ran his fingers over Eduardo’s lower lip and up his cheekbone.

Eduardo shivered. “Yours,” he said, weakly. “I’m your slave, sire.”

Mark’s lips quirked a little, and he pushed the hand into Eduardo’s hair. “Boring,” he said, lifting Eduardo’s head a little as he pulled out slowly. Eduardo’s eyes fell closed at the sensation, and he whimpered as he felt the muscles in Mark’s thighs coil.

“What are you, really?” Mark asked again, calmly.

“I’m,” Eduardo stuttered, “I’m Prince Eduardo of Saverin.” He was rewarded with a series of firm thrusts that left him gasping for air and straining against Mark’s grip on his hair.

“That’s right,” Mark said, dropping Eduardo’s head back onto the covers and taking hold of his spread thighs once more. “You’re my little prince. My spoils of war.”

Eduardo moaned, longer than he knew he could. The stretch was harsh, but he could feel Mark’s heat against him, hilt deep. He couldn’t fill him any further, but he was acting like it, thrusting that thick head rough and shallow, deep inside of him, grinding just, exactly, right there. He came, convulsing and clutching blindly at the furs, at Mark’s flesh, his climax painfully long as the relentless bruising of his insides went on and on.

Mark let his thighs drop eventually, and Eduardo whimpered as he felt the big dick pull free from him once more, this time with a wet sound and the sensation of warm liquids following it down his aching thighs.

Mark pulled away completely after a few moments. Eduardo made a small involuntary sound, and Mark rested his hand on his hip firmly. “You stay here,” he said, kicking his legs over the side of the bed and standing. He put the tunic he’d shucked earlier back on.

“Dustin,” he called.

Dustin came out of the washroom, cheery as ever, towels and washcloths in hand. He handed some to Mark, and then climbed onto the bed next to Eduardo, making a sympathetic face. He patted Eduardo gently on the head and eyed the mess between his legs and under him, and well, everywhere. In the end he gave Eduardo the washcloth and left him to clumsily dab at himself with rubbery arms, and took charge of removing the stained furs and blankets from the bed and heaping them next to the door for the servants to deal with.

“Dustin.” Mark said again, this time from the table. Eduardo curled up weakly on one of the remaining clean furs and watched as for some reason Mark began to strap himself into leather shin shields and armour. Dustin joined him slowly, and buckled a sword around his waist, speaking seriously under his breath to him in Latin.

Eduardo blinked at them for a while until Dustin looked over at him nervously, and seemed to realise that he was still awake. He came over and pulled a fur over Eduardo’s bare back. “You stay,” he said, apologetically, glancing back at Mark. “Please. Wait friend?”

Eduardo squinted in confusion.

Dustin wrung his hands and darted back to Mark, speaking to him quickly, and almost angrily. Mark just lifted his shoulders in a shrug, and Dustin seemed to take that as assent, as he tore out of the room, almost slipping as he went through the doors.

Mark was fully outfitted by the time Dustin returned, breathing hard and carrying a fat, lumpy sack. Chris wasn't far behind, a similar sack in his arms and a peeved look on his face. He too had shin guards and gauntlets, but the sword sheath at his side was more the size of a dagger.

Chris dumped his bag on the table, and Eduardo jumped a little at the bang it made. His sack seemed to be comprised of a fair few scrolls, if Eduardo could judge it by its knobbly shape.

Dustin disappeared into the washroom momentarily and came back with an armload of cloth and soap and a small basin. All of this he dumped into his sack, and then he went and took several of Mark's tunics and robes from the storage, grimacing apologetically at Eduardo as he passed the bedside.

Chris was well occupied with speaking through gritted teeth at Mark, both their arms folded stiffly across their chests. They paused and glared balefully for a moment and Mark ended the standoff by returning to the bed.

Eduardo stiffened, suspicious, but Mark just stooped and pressed their mouths together firmly. Eduardo blinked, his lips parting automatically when Mark pushed his tongue between them. Mark was gone again almost immediately, and Eduardo stared through half lidded eyes as he withdrew.

"Stay here and wait for me," Mark ordered.

He nodded, confused, but willing to accept such a simple command.

Mark pulled at the fur that Eduardo was laying on and dragged it off the bed. He tossed it to Dustin, saying something sharp. Dustin rolled his eyes but folded the fur and added it to the sack.

Mark sat down and pulled on some heavy boots.

Eduardo narrowed his eyes and looked to Chris. He was frowning and sorting through his own bag. He was wearing heavy boots as well.

The clink of metal caught Eduardo's attention and he watched Mark rise, broad shoulders shifting under the weight of his armour. Dustin stood to attention with him and uplifted the hastily closed bag. They left, Dustin glancing back nervously. Mark didn't look back, his only parting words a bark: "Chris!"

Chris cursed, a short common phrase Eduardo was familiar with hearing from foot soldiers.

He crammed a couple of scrolls back into his bag, wrapping them clumsily in the tunics he'd pulled out too.

"Look," he said, glancing at Eduardo, then at the door. "I've got to go, or he'll ride without me, and he really will, the bastard."

"Where are you going?" Eduardo asked finally, giving in to the urge to touch his lips. They didn't feel different. Why would Mark do that? He'd never done that before.

"Mark has decided that now is an opportune time to rally his troops and put down a few little uprisings.” Chris raised his eyebrows at Eduardo meaningfully as he jammed his belongings lower into his bag. “The palace is in uproar at the short notice, as you can see,” he said, indicating with his hands at the sack before him. “But, I suppose nobody expects a army to march at midday.” Chris scowled. “No doubt we will continue overnight.”

Eduardo blinked, still thumbing at his lower lip absently. “You’re going as well? And Dustin?” He still felt kind of hazy and confused. Mark’s full attention tended to do that to him, even without any kind of mad hubbub interfering.

“I’m sorry,” Chris looked apologetic. “I’m one of the major tacticians, and Mark doesn’t trust anyone but Dustin to accompany him.”

“Oh,” Eduardo said. “I’ll be alright...” He directed his eyes toward the floor. He was fairly certain that he knew now how to get to the kitchens and the baths on his own. There weren’t many other places he knew he would be welcomed. It would be boring, he supposed, but most of his life so far had been similarly limited in scope.

Chris tsked. “Don’t look so sad,” he said.

Eduardo looked up. Chris gave him a small smile. “Dustin arranged for some of his friends to look in on you whilst we’re gone.” He nodded to himself, and pulled the drawstring tight on his bag. “I have no idea where he finds the time, but,” he shrugged, smiling gently at his hands, “Dustin is very resourceful when it suits him.”

Eduardo nodded in agreement. He had never imagined becoming nearly best friends with a boy who barely understood him. Dustin was amazing.

“We’re off,” Chris said then, hiking his bag over his shoulder. “Send us luck. Trust Mark and me.” He grinned at Eduardo. “Eat, sleep, and grow fat while we’re gone, if you please.”

“Good luck,” Eduardo said, earnestly, sitting up to give Chris a modest half bow over the remaining furs in his lap. “And, please. Give Mark my regards?” He blushed involuntarily, suddenly conscious of how bruised and warm his lips still were.

Chris waved and left, only stopping briefly at the door to give the guards stationed outside some stern instructions that left them scraping and bowing until the heavy doors shut once more.

Eduardo was alone. So he did what any semi-sated boy left unsupervised would do. He rolled over and let sleep claim him.

  
  


The next thing Eduardo could remember that wasn’t a dark cocoon of warm furs or a half-formed dream-memory of Mark pulling him back against his chest and trapping him there, was tapping. Sharp staccato tapping. He lifted his head and squinted around. It was definitely the door. Someone was knocking on the the door of the king’s chambers?

He sat up slowly, pushing his hair back. The furs tried to snarl him as he slid out of the bed, but he managed not to trip on his way to the archway where all of Mark’s clothes were stored. The first thing he touched, he pulled on. It was a thin tunic, somehow dyed a perfectly even pale blue, like the thinnest layer of morning clouds over a bright summer’s sky. It fell to his knee, to Eduardo’s relief, and he shuffled quickly across the stone floor, pushing his feet into sandals from beside the bed as he headed to the door.

The rapping came again, sounding madder than before. Eduardo paused. Was it wise to even open the door? Anyone could be there. He screwed up his courage and reconciled himself to it. Surely the guards would have already gotten rid of someone truly dangerous. And if they’d meant any harm, the knocker could simply have slipped in while Eduardo was sleeping. The doors weren’t locked in any way.

He pulled the door open before he could lose his nerve again, but hid behind the bulk of the second panel as he peered out.

Eduardo’s first realisation was that it was a lady. This was a very slight relief. His second realisation was that she was terrifyingly beautiful. Terrifying as in: she looked like anger suited her countenance far too well for comfort. She also looked like no one Eduardo had ever met. He had only seen paintings of people from the Eastern reaches of the world, but lo - here she was. She met Eduardo’s eye as soon as the door opened, and he cringed back as she looked him up and down.

“Hello?” he ventured in Latin, when she did nothing but glare at him appraisingly.

“Hello,” she said back, her pronunciation just as bad as his own.

Eduardo nodded awkwardly and chewed his lip, hanging off the door frame as they stared each other down. The guards either side of them shuffled slightly in place. No one spoke.

“Uh.”  Eduardo said, glancing down the hall. He realised slowly that he was hungry. From the look of the dusky light coming in the porticos down the hall, night was beginning to fall. It had to be almost eight in the evening.

“I-” he stuttered, “Eduardo.” He patted his chest gently and looked at the lady hopefully.

“Christy,” she said, tossing back her black hair. It was even darker than Eduardo’s. “Dustin’s friend.”

Eduardo started. “Dustin!” he said, realising their connection. “Shall we...food?” he asked politely, remembering his manners.

Christy nodded, face dropping into a serene expression. She offered her arm, and Eduardo took it gracefully, and began to lead them towards the kitchens route he remembered best. Halfway there, Christy scoffed, and pulled them into a corridor Eduardo had never traversed.

“My chambers,” she said, proudly, as they came to a dead end panelled with doors. She pushed one open and paraded inside, beckoning Eduardo after her with an imperious arm wave. The room was perhaps the size of the king’s cavernous washroom, but it was absolutely crammed with white paper confections, each one suspended from the ceiling or stood on long thin stilts, and each one housing its own tiny flickering candle.

Eduardo stood very still. Perhaps it was a precious display.

Christy didn’t seem careful about them however. She threw herself down onto an enormous downy pillow next to a curiously low table.

“Sit,” she said, looking from him to the pillow opposite her.

Eduardo obeyed, and sat back in wonder as a stream of servants began to enter from behind them, each carrying a dish, a bottle, a platter, or some kind of eating implement, all of which they laid out as Christy dictated.

“Eat, Prince Eduardo,” she said, finally, smiling wide at him like a cat, and he did, as she watched him, sipping slowly at her ceramic mug.


	11. Chapter 11

They ate well into the night, and Eduardo was impressed to see that Christy had tastes that tended towards his own in some ways - she had some kind of fish he’d never seen before served to them, both cold and freshly seared. There were tiny roasted birds and their eggs, both boiled whole and otherwise. She even served him some thick boiled leafy plants, which were still crispy and refreshing despite their heat.  

They did not speak much beyond trading names of the dishes, and Eduardo praising the food. Many of the dishes seemed to have titles in an entirely different language to any that Eduardo had ever heard. Perhaps Chris might speak it.

Christy spoke to him occasionally at greater length, but shrugged and shortened her sentences when it became apparent that her grasp on Latin, whilst tenuous, was still a great deal better than Eduardo’s. She spoke no Português at all, Eduardo found, after receiving a blank look after asking her in Português and then clumsily in Latin.

After the meal and the tables was cleared away at Christy’s request, the servants brought her a pipe, and packed it for her before disappearing once more to wherever it was they seemed to hide in wait for Christy’s call.

“Tobacco?” Christy offered him. Eduardo shook his head, mouthing the new word silently. Christy settled back and inhaled deeply, scanning him again from top to toe at her leisure.

Eduardo shifted slightly on his cushion, smoothing his tunic more tidily over the curve of his skinny knees. He met Christy’s gaze again, smiling hopefully as she narrowed her eyes. She opened her mouth slightly, only to release a gentle stream of smoke rings. They floated across the air between them and dissipated just before they reached Eduardo. He laughed before he could catch himself and found that Christy was grinning too. She sent a couple more his way and even managed to send smaller hoops sailing through the old expanding ones before they could disappear.

“Mark is gone,” she said, after Eduardo had stopped chuckling and trying to poke his fingers through all the rings she sent him. “A war is a long time,” she added, seriously.

Eduardo nodded.

“You will stay in those chambers?” she enquired.

Eduardo frowned. “Yes?”

“For weeks?” She pressed.

Eduardo shrugged, looking at his bare feet. “Yes,” he said. It was as he had thought, after all. The chambers, the kitchen, the baths. And Christy’s rooms, he supposed, thinking of Dustin’s thoughtful arrangements fondly. It was still a rather bleak few weeks - or possibly months - that stretched before him.

“Then come here,” Christy said. “Dustin did ask me this favour.”

“Thank you,” Eduardo said.

“It is nothing,” Christy shrugged, packing her own pipe this time. “It is pleasant to have a pretty companion. You will not hurt me.”

“Never,” Eduardo said, shocked. “Who?”

Christy shook her head, ignoring the question.

“Surprised you were not given to Sean,” she said instead, lighting her pipe with a careful hand.

“Sean?” Eduardo asked, concentrating on the mixture of words he knew and the ones he could only decipher from context as she spoke.

“Mmm hm,” Christy said. “King Regent.” Seeing that Eduardo was none the wiser, she squinted for a moment and rephrased. “Mark’s heir.”

Eduardo blinked. Mark had a designated heir? He supposed it only made sense, although, if he’d had to guess, he would have assumed the logical heir should really be Chris, seeing as he appeared to run the kingdom already. Sean was...a non entity to Eduardo. He’d never even heard the name before.

Christy hummed thoughtfully as she smoked. “You should sleep,” she said. “They might call for you tomorrow.”

Eduardo nodded agreement to the parts he understood, and stood, swaying a little until he got his feet under him.  Christy called out and a servant girl came in and bowed to them both. Christy spoke to her in her quick but broken Latin, and the girl nodded and led Eduardo to the door where he paused to push his feet back into his sandals.

“Good night,” he said to Christy politely. “Thank you.”

Christy waved him out briskly. “Good night.”

After the bright room and its whimsical decorations, Mark’s chambers seemed cavernous and dim. The servant girl left him at the door, and Eduardo almost wanted to call for her to take him back as the heavy doors swung closed behind him.  It wasn’t so bad once he adjusted to the light of the few candles. Servants had visited whilst he’d been out, and the table bore a fruit platter that would stay fresh enough over night. The belongings that Mark and Dustin had shrewn about as they prepared for their journey had all been picked up and returned to their proper places, and even better, the bed had been remade with fresh clean furs and blankets. The pillows and cushions had even been plumped.

Eduardo sighed and let himself fall into the soft bed. He shed Mark’s tunic and crawled into the very middle, intent of sleeping long and deeply. Pushing his feet down into the bed however resulted in the discovery of a rather hard, cold stone.

Eduardo delved down and retrieved it, confused. Perhaps Dustin had left even more of his belongings in the bed as he slept.

It was a smooth stone, definitely, but around it was a leaf of paper thin parchment, tiny precise folds tucking it tightly around the rock. Eduardo raised his eyebrows and shifted to the side of the bed closest to the candle lit table. He unfolded the parchment carefully and held it up to the light.  It was a message, the letters printed large with a childlike hand. Even more curiously, it was in portugues - or at least something close to it - heavily corrupted with mistaken Latin letters and the odd not quite right word.

_ Sorry I have not seen you again! I hope you are very well. I have bean very busy with my patron. Dustin aksed me to keep you company. I will do this as soon as I can! My patron keeps me VERY busy. I will sea you at court soon. Eat well. I have secretly sent you a lot of food! Try not to pine. Burn this letter please. _

_Your friend - Amy._

Eduardo couldn’t help but smile as he came to the end of the message. He looked over at the platter of fruit on the table and got up, placing the cold grey stone on the bedside table. Eduardo held the paper over the flame of one of the candles and dropped it to burn to ash on a clean plate. He took a handful of grapes and slid back into the bed, grinning and stretching out in the now thankfully stone-free sheets.

 

Cheered by the concept of having friends in the palace, not to mention ones he could at least partially communicate with, Eduardo found himself rising mid-morning the next day, smiling even when the furs tripped him on the way out of bed as always. The baths were pleasant, the attendants as kind as always, and the breeze in the open air corridors was warm in between brisk licks of cool breeze.

Ever elaborate platters kept appearing in Mark’s chambers, no doubt courtesy of Amy’s generosity. Full bellied and with a long empty afternoon ahead of him, Eduardo realised that for the first time in months, he would have to find some way of entertaining himself.

Eduardo wondered where his belongings had gone. He’d only brought a small bag, but his chess set had been in it. Perhaps he could teach Christy to play. There were other things in there too. He wouldn’t need the clothes anymore, of course.

He left the warm portico and ventured back into the king’s chambers. There were servants making the bed and another hefting a heavy kettle out of the washroom. They all stopped when he entered and bowed low.  Eduardo ducked back awkwardly and tried to press himself right into the wall as they hurriedly finished their work and filed out, bowing again as they closed the door behind them. “Thank you,” Eduardo said quietly to himself, too late, and tongue still uncertain of the syllables.

The first place Eduardo could think to look was the storage alcove. Surely if his belongings had been kept, they would be in storage. He scanned the floor of the alcove first, nudging aside boots, sandals and slippers. The blue slippers Mark had sent him on his first trip to the baths were there, spotless thanks to the servants’ efforts. He smiled briefly at them and turned his attention to the shelves.

Organisation was slightly less detectable here - tunics were mixed in with robes and underclothes, and there didn’t seem to be any colour division, or even a difference between winter and summer clothes.  Eduardo wasn’t sure why he was surprised. The culprits were clearly Mark and Dustin. There was no sign of anything but clothes, at any rate.

Eduardo turned away and surveyed the chambers again. There was nothing along the walls but furniture and candelabras. Perhaps under the bed? He dropped to his knees carefully and made a face as he realised that he would have to clamber under the bed to see anything in the dark space.

He only banged his head once, to his credit, but a face full of a good few years of accumulated dust and a quick squint around the empty crawlspace was more than enough to satisfy Eduardo’s curiosity.

Exasperated, Eduardo crawled out from under the bed, minding his head. He sat up and leaned his head against the side of the bed, brushing dirt off his shins and snorting creeping dust out of his nose. His stomach growled a little and he looked at the table hopefully. Perhaps the servants had left more morsels.

It was then that he saw it. He almost wanted to kick himself. There is was, right there, in plain view, in the middle of the room. Apparently servants hadn’t dared disturb it. Eduardo’s shabby brown satchel was tucked neatly against the feet of Mark’s usual chair.

Eduardo scooped it up and sat at the table himself to spill out the contents.

There were his best tunics on top, untouched since that morning that Sy had made him wash in the cold river. The fabric looked threadbare and worn now, not at all like he remembered it. He hadn’t had velvet, or silks, or beading. He hadn’t had slippers either. The old clothes were good for nothing now, Eduardo realised, embarrassed. Even the servants and lowest staff in the kitchens here wore better linen than he ever had as a prince. Eduardo almost wanted to push the fabric into the fire, it was so shabby. It was embarrassing to think that he’d sat waiting on Mark’s bed in his old rags.  It was no wonder Dustin had tried to undress him in preparation.

Eduardo folded the cloth and set it beside the fireplace with distaste. The servants could burn it or do whatever they wanted with it later.

Next Eduardo found his combs and razor, all of them chipped and blunt compared to the instruments the attendants wielded in the baths. He put them aside, along with worn sandals, an old toothbrush shedding its bristles, a greasy piece of soap, a small dented box of oily gel, the battered acochleare spoon that Eduardo had had since he was a child - rubbish, Eduardo realised with dismay as he stared at all he had left to claim as his own. He wrapped them all in one of his tunics and set them beside the fire too.

Finally all that was left on the table was a bulky sacking wrapped bundle. Eduardo unravelled the twine and smiled wryly at his old chess board. This too was scratched and faded, but in a friendly way. Chess sets were supposed to be old and worn. He shook out the sacking and counted up the pieces. There weren’t many of the original pieces left. The king and the queen, one of the horsemen, and a holyman were still marble. The rest were clumsily carved wood and rough lumps of wood that Eduardo had yet to even start on. Last of all, Eduardo’s little whittling knife came tumbling out. Eduardo grinned and tested the blade. This was still good, at least.

  
A week and and half, four increasingly pleasant meals with Christy, and three completed pieces of a set of chess figures for Dustin later, the sun stopped reaching Eduardo’s favoured seat against the columns of the portico. Despite wearing the long sleeved robes from Mark’s wardrobe, the cool winds came more frequently, outlasting the fleeting patches of sunlight Eduardo had enjoyed. It was truly autumn, it seemed, and much colder than any autumn Eduardo had experienced in Saverin.  On one formerly promising afternoon, Eduardo had to give in to the dropping temperature and take his carving indoors. The servants stoked the fire when they saw him come in, and Eduardo settled in front of it thankfully, happy to brush his shavings into the fire now and then.

The pawn Eduardo had started in the morning was proving trickier than he’d anticipated. Something about the grain of the wood was off, but Eduardo was loathe to discard it. It was his last piece of hardwood from home, and the kindling beside the fire was entirely the wrong colour. Still, the ornate knob that marked the head of the pawn was more stubborn than Eduardo’s knife. It insisted on guiding his blade astray on every pass, and the lopsidedness of the piece was only growing in obviousness.

Eduardo was concentrating so hard, elbows pressed into his propped up knees, head turned for maximum scrutiny, that he missed the soft knock against the door. The door swinging open, however, he did not miss, especially when it thumped against the wall, and was followed by a sudden but half hearted quarrel at his very door.

The knife slipped just slightly, but it was more than enough to nick just the wrong spot, marring the pattern on the pawn’s knob with a singular ruining scratch. Eduardo dropped the pawn and the knife, more disappointed in himself than angry.

He frowned at the ruined project and turned to face the door, expecting another servant. Perhaps a new and clumsy one.

The visitor was sandy haired and taller than Mark, though not as tall as Eduardo. He had an arch to his eyebrows, and a condescending purse to his lips that set Eduardo on edge when he realised that the man’s attention was squarely fixed on him. This man clearly wasn’t a servant or a gentleman. Eduardo already disliked him.

“Can I help you?” He asked, in portugues, because there was no point in delaying the realisation that he could not speak this place’s native tongue.

The man laughed and leaned back against the door he’d entered by. He crossed his legs at the ankle and cocked his head, saying something Eduardo couldn’t even partially decipher. Until - “---- Sean. --- I ------- Mark ----- --- --- --- -- ---.”

Sean.

This had be the Sean that Christy had mentioned. Eduardo’s lip curled automatically. As far as Eduardo had observed in the time he’d been here, no one would ever dare to enter Mark’s rooms without direct permission. Only being the heir would grant someone the gall.

Sean went right on burbling nonsense and smirking haughtily at him in between sentences, despite being obviously aware that Eduardo did not understand.

Eduardo held his tongue and sat up politely none the less. If this man was going to complain to Mark later about anything, it certainly wasn’t going to be about Eduardo’s good breeding.

Eventually, Sean laughed softly, waved, and turned to go, but not before rather clearly enunciating possibly the most offensive insult Eduardo had ever heard a Roman soldier use. The roughest of the Saverin’s servant children had covered Eduardo’s ears in the presence of soldiers shouting less derogatory language.

Eduardo stiffened slightly, but waited until he heard the doors click completely closed. Only then did he snatch up the pawn he’d ruined and hurled it into the fireplace with all the force he could muster. It met the flames silently, hitting only hot ash, and was consumed immediately without even the jump of a spark.

King Regent Sean, he thought, over and over again as the ash from the pawn settled into the grate.

  
They called him the next morning. A servant was lingering in the doorway when Eduardo rolled over, the only indication of his presence pale skin reflecting the dim morning light that had spilled through the open door. Eduardo was suddenly more awake than he’d felt in days. The realisation that people were now letting themselves into the chambers without any pretence to discretion was more than enough to rouse him into a state of suspicion that left no room for continued sleep.

Eduardo slipped out of the bed slowly, frowning and moving quickly to the alcove when he realised that his new sentry wasn’t the type of servant to avert his eyes when he was bare. The bath attendants had spoiled him in this regard, he thought bitterly.

Eduardo pulled on the blue velvet robe that Mark had first given him, and put on the slippers to match as he shuffled into the washroom, casting a suspicious look at the servant. He had moved closer and was standing halfway to the table now, door into the corridor still wide behind him. He was broader and older than the usual servants that Eduardo met in this part of the palace. He was nearly as tall as the guards that flanked the doors every day. A guard escort then, Eduardo reflected as he washed his face. The water was cold this morning. Last night’s leftovers. He pushed his hair back regardless, taming the worst of it with damp fingers.

“Morning,” Eduardo said, presenting himself to the servant finally. He stopped a few paces away and worried at the inside of his cheek. The servant looked him up and down once before nodding and turning on his heel with a grunt. He beckoned and left.  

Eduardo entertained the idea of refusing to leave for barely a moment, shaking his head at his own foolishness, and followed obediently, just as Mark, and Chris, and his father, and any number of people would expect of him. That his stomach was inexplicably sinking with every step they took was irrelevant. The guards usually stationed outside the doors were nowhere to be seen.

They didn’t stop until they reached the throne room, and they passed no one along the way. The corridors were deserted. It didn’t make Eduardo want to walk any faster. He soon discovered the reason for the missing servants when his escort pushed the doors to the throne room open.

The huge room was crammed with nobles and servants alike, from the dais to the distant entrance Eduardo had entered months ago. There were loaded candelabras lining the walls, and the light was brighter than the cold morning sunlight Eduardo had walked in on the way.

The dull roar that the open doors had unleashed on Eduardo’s ears dissipated a little as he entered, the people naturally curious as to who was entering late. He blinked and scanned the crowd. There were nobles he had seen when attending Mark at court before. Christy was a number of rows back, surrounded by a score of other diplomats of a variety of races. She had a less than impressed expression on her face despite the avid attentions of her personal servants.

Eduardo’s guard shoved him forward a little, and Eduardo flinched and scowled, suddenly understanding Christy’s look of ill temper. He regained his balance and stood a little taller before obeying the direction of the push. He wants me to approach the dais, he thought quickly, until he realised that the stairs were absent. The guard made a movement, as if to push him again, but Eduardo dodged it and dropped to his heels beside the others kneeling around them. The man looked slightly disappointed, but he nodded in approval regardless, and walked away to join one of a number of contubernium against the wall.

Only then did Eduardo dare to look up at the dais. It made him sick to imagine what he might see.

In Mark’s seat - in the throne -  was the man from last night. Sean.

Another chair had been dragged onto the dais. It sat a little lower, but it was no less covered in luxurious furs, and the occupant’s stature was great enough to rival Sean’s height in the throne.

“Hello again,” Tyler said, leaning forward in his seat with a wide white grin bared just for Eduardo.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an ongoing work on the tsn kinkmeme, periodically added here as new chapters. For the newest parts, see the kink meme [here](http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/12119.html?thread=21751639).


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